How They Wish It Was Raining
by TheSilentReader
Summary: One-shot series. Chapter 14: A compilation of drabbles about Yoshino and Kobayashi's friendship that probably never happened in the canon. They're literally good friends, no matter what everyone thinks. Rated T.
1. Yuuki and Touko

How They Wish It Was Raining

-_TheSilentReader-_

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><p>It was already morning. The sun peaked at a pair of lovers from the small slit of the sliding paper door of the empty Japanese hut. It was early spring, and the remnants of the past winter season was still greeting their skins the coldness of its passing. Today, it was not raining, as depicted of how bright the sunlight pierced his eyes. He did not moved even a single inch from his current position, even though the thin light that invaded that small slit of the paper door hit his right eye with blinding accuracy. He then tried to move slowly, his head nearer to the person beside him.<p>

This would advantage him in two ways: He would be rid of that damn morning light, and his face would be much closer to her neck. It was bliss, to finally able to move.

She shifted silently, as the heat of his breath culminated with the coldness of his lips. She moaned from the contact; thus, as he heard her moan, he further advanced by sliding his right hand to her left breast, his right leg coiled more with her legs, his left hand stretched beneath the small of her back and be placed on the wide arc of her left hip. He was further spooning her, and she loved the feeling. Of the moment he held her like this.

Naked. With only a white blanket to cover them and a large, old futon to accommodate them both, enough to capture warmth from the crisp coldness of the jealous winter leaving for the debut of the spring.

Now he was fully awake.

With his hand covering her breast, he remembered last night when he said that he loved how her breasts spilled onto his palms. He never hesitated to say it as he held them against her. She was more embarrassed by the declaration, even though he had taken all his clothes off and she still had her panties. One undergarment still in function still made the difference. She was sitting then rather stiffly, her buttocks resting on the soles of her feet, her knees touching. Her arms then were covering her breasts, crossing them across her upper torso, and her face was facing the candle beside her, which illuminated how red she was.

She was so ethereal, her virgin eyes still facing the orange flame of the candle. He held her in his arms, moved her face by locking his forefinger and thumb against her chin, and kissed her gently.

But that was last night.

He intended to be a nice boy, thus he tried to relax, forcing himself to sleep again.

He shifted again with his face to finally be in contact with her neck. She stifled a small chuckle after he had done this; his prickly bangs tickled her neck. But, as gentleman as he was, he knew when to be aggressive, and when to be subversive. She thanked him for that, being able to read her. Last night had been so deliciously tiring, and to do it again this morning would be the death of her. Not that she mind, it's just that . . . it's early in the morning. But, she did not mind, she . . . didn't. She would be happy to do it again.

She pulled the white blanket up to his neck, covering the rest of him. His breath, she thought, was enough to warm her exposed neck. While she did this though, she did not bother him to remove any of his appendages that possessively held her. It took long enough for them to be like this. She would not hesitate to give everything to him—she was selfish for the longest time. She wanted share to him, all the things that she was.

The sides of her upper left arms were now immune to the weight of his head and the fine spines of his dark brown hair. His hair, although prickly at its ends, was incredibly smooth along its length. She moved her formerly limp lower arm and placed her hands to the side of his skull. She closed her eyes, and transcended the feeling of his smooth hair with her fingers to her memory. She repeatedly stroked its short tresses, from its base, with all her five fingers, and up to its tips with just her thumb and forefinger. His breath was even in its intervals—the hot breath upon her neck and the rise and fall of his hard chest against her right breast and torso signified so.

He shifted after so many minutes—all that time she just stroked his hair. At some point, she would lower her head to his, and feel him with her cheeks. After that, she would kiss his hair, or nuzzle her nose to it. He tried not to move, but he could not take it anymore. He pressed closer to her, his nose closer to her neck, as well as his wet lips. He felt so small and fine hairs there, those invisible hairs that erected lightly as his nose descended to the skin. He never felt so sensitive to these things before, never to any woman but her. As he shifted, the blanket revealed his neck and shoulders as it moved downward.

But his appendages still held her in place. Especially his hands on her left breast.

"You're awake." He greeted her with a sigh.

She recognized his greeting by moving the blanket up to his neck again with her left hand, further covering them both. He clearly knew its significance; she did not want yet to get up. That, he was glad to correctly interpret.

"Please stay." She heaved a moan. For a moment, she almost regretted speaking so bluntly. It took her a very long time to voice out what she wanted him to do, and another fragment of forever the moment for her to voice them out truthfully. She was always a liar, she never did eradicate that flaw of hers, but something with the glibness of her tongue that made her unique among all the liars in the world. He finally found a way whever she lied or not. This fox hesitates whenever she's in front of his face. She bluntly told him before that this realization would be the end of her—her mask transparent to him.

She told him, with brute hurt elevating with the emerging lines and vessels on her face, that she did not want this to happen—for them to happen. Eventually, she shouted then, that someone would leave the other. She's reluctant to follow what she really wanted; she did not trust him yet.

To earn her trust was the longest struggle he had. She was a hard stone to crack, but after all this time he finally forced his way. It felt so good, he inhaled deeply, his nostrils recognizing the scent of her neck. He could not help but flick his tongue across his lips. He wanted to kiss her sweet neck, but he needed approval. She's still tender, that's why.

But he did it anyway, man that he was.

She anticipated his moves; his deep breathing gave her a hint. She did not want to feel shy in front of him anymore, even act with feigning hatred. It was all in the past now. She did not even reject his advances last night. He was cold, so was she. Maybe, they just needed warmth, any physical contact to prevent the threatening cold. Maybe, he just needed someone for a quick encounter. They almost were exhausted from the storm and the sexual tension for being alone in this silent, lonely hut.

But they begged for each other last night.

She held him tighter; her free arm that was laid unoccupied ran across them and snaked under his armpit and onto his back. She adjusted to her side, facing him, drawing him closer to her, as physically close they could be. She buried her face to his hair. She silently drew his fragrance, and she smelled last night's rain from his hair. They did not bother to look for a bathroom in this solitary place in the middle of the forest. They just found firewoord and a large futon and blanket while rummaging the small house.

"Is something wrong?" He asked, after he felt her shiver.

"None. Nothing is wrong." She hugged him tighter.

"I don't think so," He hugged back.

She didn't like what she saw outside. That small slit of the paper sliding door, emanate a good weather. That good weather, would force her to get up, and find their way to the highway again, after being stranded in the storm. They would fight again, while fixing his car, about his broken car, her nagging mouth, their stupid friendship, and his fucking difference from his sister. Too much drama—he grew to be opinionated, he treated her differently from other girls.

The fact that they became best friends were even a shock to both of them, Or did they ever considered each other as friends? Now, she didn't know anymore.

A friend told her once that they fought and hangout more like a lovers than best friends did. _How could she say so?_ she told her former classmate in Lillian Academy. The former said that even though there were no dates, no parties, no romantic dinners between the two, they still found other measures to be together, even not in a romantic way. Medical school was never happy. They would study together, even though she was a year level behind him, and he was doing more studying than she did. They have known each other since high school, because of the culmination of Hanadera and Yamayuri Councils. She would usually eat with his family, for she was very close to his older sister. To her surprise, he was even frequently invited when Kashiwagi Onii-sama and she was going to hang out. Her cousins, and he and his sister were close during high school. It was sometimes impossible not to see him once a week.

Now, they were in the same medical school, pursuing the same dream.

She found him so fascinating, as lively as his older sister. And now, she found him so loving and passionate. The more she wanted rain and wind to be harrassing the forest around the hut now. She didn't want to wake up. She just wanted to be here, with him, one more time.

No medical books, no cadavers, no headaches, just . . . ecstasy.

"I hate going back." She said against his hair, stopping herself from jerking a tear. It felt hard to cry in front of him now—she cried many times as she found comfort from a best friend like him, but not now. Since last night changes everything.

"Me too." He said, then ascended to kiss her.

He shifted his body to be on top of hers again, his groin rested lusciously on hers. The morning light creeping from the door was forgotten immediately. As she opened her mouth for him, he put his left hand to the back of her head to put her in place. His other hand still rested on her left breast, kneading her, making her forget whatever induced her into bitter tears.

Their tongues danced, since no one was urging a fight from one another. Neither of them wanted to be in dominion. They just wanted to be free from all things that clouded their consciousness and be concentrated in this small futon. She whimpered when he ruluctantly removed his lips from hers, but sighed when his mouth contacted with her earlobe, grazing his tongue to it gently. The coldness of the thin sheath of saliva upon her lobe was weakening.

"Touko," He finally breathed her name.

"Yuu—" She could not even finish saying his name from the dryness of her mouth. "Yuuki, I nn—"

She wanted to protest that they should not be doing this again, that last night was just a trick, a spin-off from all the frustrations that gathered through time, and were released to each other in just one night. But he kissed her again on the mouth, muffling all her protestations out and away to the thin nick of the paper slide-door. He kissed her with more fervor than he did last night, thinking that if ever her objections would spill out of her mouth, this would be the end of the moment both have been aiming for. Many times they prevented this, many times they inwardly fought against themselves . . . but now he would not take any chances. He then put both his palms on her cheeks, and dart his tongue to her expecting mouth. Her arms were on his back, were pulling her closer, pressing her chest more to him.

She broke the kiss—she felt tears on her face.

She was not the one crying—it was Yuuki's tears.

"No, please . . ." He begged.

His tears fell, she never saw him with them. She'd seen him teared up because of the harsh basicity of formalin evaporating from dead human flesh while he dissected its cadaver in one of their late laboratory classes. His eyes apathetic even as he saw blood spurting out of a large blood vessel, making his masked mouth and nose blotted with decaying blood. He teared up even with protective glasses. She was the one in front of him, not a gray cadaver, but he let tears fall . . . his mouth half open, his eyes on her.

He kissed her again. She surrendered.

He pulled her closer, his left hand on her upper spine, drawing her closer lifting her chest to him. He was so strong holding her like this, while only his left elbow supported his exertions. She raked the fingers of her both hands upon his scalp, roughly foraging his fingernails on him. She encircled one of her legs onto his waist. Their cries and moans resound beyond the doors. Her cries were never suppressed, nor his movements. He touched every part of her possible, while she gripped on him—on his back, his buttocks, his hair. Whenever he pistons, she would dig her teeth on the bulge of his wide shoulder, imprinting love bites that almost bled. Their hips moved achingly slow but firm, back and forth, never minding the creaks of the floor whenever its decaying lumber were in friction with each other, not the rising sun and the heat of its rays penetrating across the paper doors and their small gap.

This time, there was no provocation, no trifling fights, no forced intimacy between them, both of them giving and taking.

_Oh_, how they wish today was raining.

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><p><em>TO BE CONTINUED<em>

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**This fanfiction was made out of lack progress in my other ongoing fanfic, _Behind Closed Doors._ I hope that this would make you happy for a while . . . while I finish another chapter of BCD. Thanks, and please review!

I was planning to provide another chapter, if you want to have it, just tell me so!


	2. Youko and Sei

A/N: BEFORE YOU READ, I hope you'll understand the nature of this one-shot. The fic happened in two time-frames, one of it was a narrative which was in Sei's perspective. They were mixed along the bulk of the story, but I hope you get those as you read along.

About the change of perspectives between Sei and Youko, I cannot have more remedy for that. It was written that way, I hope you understand.

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><p>Chapter 2 of How They Wish It Was Raining:<p>

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><p><strong>Impenetrable Past<strong>

-_TheSilentReader_-

It was a constraint of time and space. Even the vast chaos of downtown Tokyo, the paradox of that bright city was in effect with its citizens. Few of them tried to disrupt such paradox, but their counterparts restore sudden swirl of absurdity tried upon the city.

Sei and Youko, and their private liaison are one of the examples.

It was not hard to describe Sei; in just a flash of the spotlight, shecould gather too much illumination and shine without her even noticing. Her personal likeness to fame shifted into frustration from time to time, but she knew how to use it anyway. That attraction to her popularity led to, yes, more popularity, which led to her life's publicity. The life that everyone knew was a lie. Her general likeness to anything-cute (Yumi that is) and her laid-back outlook towards everything that required utmost importance were fronts to hide her impenetrable past.

Impenetrable past?

No.

Not when Youko chose it to be.

If Sei's encompassing light was grandeur itself, overwhelming the stage, that shining light that hypnotized anyone in beyond the seats, Youko's light was condensed and sharp, a bombardment of photons, of constructive interferences directed to a very small space it might implode. It was never encompassing, never overwhelming.

It was like a small light within the darkness of a cave.

Sei, however, have that light everyone had seen in his last breath.

Or was it the other way around?

Their light could never be compared with Tokyo's night-lights, but it was beginning to blend into their lives.

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><p>"Ah!"<p>

It wasn't because of the inane pleasure that coursed through her spine that she screamed such an ear-piercing sound; it was because of the fact that the person giving it to her, who was licking her between her legs right now was Sei.

It took some time for the blond to come _this _far; Youko rather forced her into succumbing to the mood one love-making ago. Sei, in the fit of her tiredness and satisfaction, decided to return the favor that the raven-haired woman had forced to give her; now, Sei was willing to do so. A moment ago, a sexually frustrated lawyer just went all the trouble of sedating herself in misery to essentially have the courage to disrupt Sei's sleep. Youko had trespassed into her condominium, violating rules and regulations—no, property laws (whatever) to get right through her door and pin her to the wall.

Such act from the former Rosa Chinensis (the ever-serene Rose) did not even breeze into the former Rosa Gigantea's mind (the ever-perverted Rose), no matter how perverted the latter was.

Youko was such a noisemaker.

As Sei pressed more of her tongue through Youko's heat, the raven-haired welcomed with such anticipation that she locked Sei's head with her thighs and legs, which was bent upon Sei's shoulders, as the former grabbed on to Sei's wrinkled sheets and shouted again. The idea was to get her hot and bothered that for the first time, the former Rosa Chinensis would accept defeat. Sei knew she would she'd been winning the first moment she was inching her way down to Youko's core, but the former might never know—she might lose, and be left empty-handed.

Thus, she continued licking, and biting Youko's—whatever—did she have to specify? But Youko seemed to love that one, that bite, for she thrusted her groin to her probing tongue, again.

Yes, she'll definitely win this one.

"Yes, Sei, please do that again,"

Unknown to other people, Satou Sei had the abnormal talent of using both sides of her brain simultaneously, multitasking different pathways of thoughts while doing an entirely different physical task. While focusing in tormenting Youko's pussy by not doing what the latter demanded (she was kissing the inner thighs instead), she was thinking of tomorrow. Tomorrow would be another day, another complication. It was an hour passed midnight; still, while tongueing the lawyer, she deliberated that sleep would soon revert them back to their broken armors. What would happen tomorrow—Youko would leave without her even noticing? Eat breakfast like old friends? Or someone would cook for another, then eat breakfast on the bed, then neglect it because both of them want to eat each other instead. She was not sure anymore—of who was the better liar. Both of them might think that this night might be a mistake, or both might think that—_yeah, finally, after all this time._

Therefore, Sei decided to finally follow the boss's order.

"SEI!"

_I'd better be a good lover,_ Sei thought to herself.

She didn't want to make more mistakes like before.

And she doesn't want to be a boring one, either.

As she was glorifying Youko's body with her tongue flicking here and there and her hands on the latter's supple breasts, Sei's thoughts drifted to a different direction again. Why was this realization of feelings (and the hot sex afterward) just happening now? Why not before? Why not on the moment that Sei knew that Youko was more than the meddling best friend, that she was different—unique—among all others?

Youko was convulsing when Sei grazed the last lick of her skilled muscle. She was panting, panting, and panting some more, trying so hard to recover, for she knew that this time, Sei was having her revenge. She tried to get up again, to obtain the upper hand, but to no avail, because Sei was nipping the skin of her belly, upward, upward . . . next was the navel . . . .

Then why the hell Youko could not recover whilst Sei only had her lips in rather less sensitive places?

Ah, yes, the fingers working inside her would do.

"Sei, my god, you are killing me."

"Is that the best line you could think of?"

Sei was playful this time, for this was the second time.

One lovemaking ago, her mood was entirely of a different spectrum. It was not at all like this lively air, but like of the darkest ages, as if she was having the last sex she could ever had (apparently not, she was working on her second with Youko now), a confirmation of an impending death, of love. It was rather of a different reason that Sei was harshly provoked to disregard her onee-sama's advice. Her onee-sama advised her to draw back if ever a person had captured her heart again, never to narrow down her world into a thin light that was her beloved. It was not the case. That light, unlike Shiori, never was unreachable like the stars. Unlike Shiori, Youko was a diamond everyone prized. Anyone could have her; anyone could be suitable for her. Shiori was honest with her feelings, though her heart bore fickleness. Youko is an occasional liar, but she was true to her roots. Sei had reached and touched Shiori even for a short time, that mortal angel, but she never had the courage to touch Youko, a simple mortal, who blended with the rest of the sinful world, unrecognized by the gods. She had touched an immaculate angel, yet simple Youko she could not.

Her lack of courage being with Youko reminded her of a possible paradox her onee-sama's advice failed to entail.

Youko, the unreachable mortal.

If it wasn't for Youko's violent disposal of anger, she would not be sucking Youko's hard nipples right now. Youko released a sigh, as she clutched on Sei's hair in appreciation for doing such a thorough job of pleasing her breasts. Simple was Sei might be doing, she was just as ecstatic for Sei was pinning her down the mattress by covering her midsection and deliberately thrusting her core along her right thigh, running her hotness along the thigh's length, wetting it.

Thrust, slide, then thrust and slide again.

Though Sei's wetness was distant, she could feel it directly on hers, warming her all over, wetting her innermost like the dripping slickness her thighs felt from Sei's.

Yes, Youko was like a small light peeping from a cave, radiance that conspire hope, a hope that was conditional. She felt it when Youko gradually drifted away from her. It was rather a conceited rule of proximity effect, wherein one valued a thing when one was farther away from it. Before, Youko was there in a touch of a button, in a haunting and hanging text message about something interesting, about coffee shops, cakes, and classical music, about hard liquor and aspirin. Now that they were already adults, independent of one another, Sei could not fathom the idea that Youko might be growing on her beyond her notice, their levels of maturity getting further and further away from each other—that Youko might be spending time (instead with her) preparing for the convenience of stability, of marriage. That, she quickly discerned. But, was that really immature and selfish? To actually notice Youko while when she was in the arms of another man? When Youko talked seriously about group dates and omiai, at first Sei felt left out—jealous, even—with the progress Youko was having with her life. Everything was planned, was right on schedule, while Sei had been running around in circles, using her job as a violinist for a philharmonic archestra based in Tokyo to be lost around the world.

Youko, her sensible friend, was in the arms of another man. That she could not get out of her system, her mind, her subconscious, even when she was offered for a solo performance during one of her orchestra's travels, the one she was truly aspiring for.

Sei kissed upward, on Youko's collarbone, as she shifted her belly to level with Youko's and opened both of their legs wider. The Red Rose ran her fingertips through her partner's spine down to the swell of her buttocks, then cupped them with both hands. She pushed Sei's groin down to her, curling her fingers upon Sei's bum and met its gravity when her own thrust. Youko moved her head downward to look at Sei's silver orbs, as she thrust her hips soundly against the former White Rose. Sei then cupped Youko's breasts, kneading them meticulously, as she battled for balance and against Youko's hungry stare.

When Youko was having less and less time with her, she was beginning to feel rejected. It was once a foreign emotion, but she felt like the time before she met Shiori, unabandoned yet unsatisfied of what life had to offer. Being angry to oneself was getting a lot easier than before. What was it like to lose Mizuno Youko? She avoided calls, and texts even from the level-headed woman who was once giving in to the nonsensical that only made sense in Sei's point-of-view. She used to tell the former Rosa Foetida, Eriko, that Youko having a boyfriend was like losing a pet goldfish—she was gone but briefly remembered—no significant experience or instance happened between a goldfish and its owner except the owner just gawked at the goldfish as its mouth blobbed—opening and closing, opening then closing—ingesting oxygenated water. That's it. No fetch-the-ball like with dogs, or pet-the-neck with cats. Nothing. Because the goldfish was always an aquatic animal, unlike its master who thrived in land.

Eriko did not buy the analogy.

Sei could not even consider Youko as her _pet, _for God's sake. But she reconsidered if she were the that goldfish. Who would be the one lay forgotten? Sei or Youko?

"Sei, please . . . ."

Youko was demanded as she lifted her hips to emphasize her point. Sei felt a hand snaking from her buttocks to halt on her pelvis. Then Youko slid her fingers into Sei, "I need you to be ready."

Youko was ever the most meddling friend. Apparently, she was bothered by Sei's avoidance that it was more amplified when Eriko hinted Sei's sneaking activity to Youko. Female friendships were elaborate and ceremonious, after all. It worked on subtlety or chaos, or simultaneously. Sei never asked her for coffee anymore. Her solo performance was also unknown to the so-called "best friend", that if Eriko did not call Youko for a reservation of the ticket, the recital would be a missed exhibition for the latter. The constant—no—increasing frequency of unanswered calls by Youko was coupled with the increase of frequenct of hearing Sei's recorded voice upon the voicemail, even though Youko was right in front of Sei's door, watching the opened light bulb from Sei's window, barely holding the phone because of despair.

"Youko . . . Ah . . . ."

Youko was playing with Sei's nub that the latter was arching her back, her groin pushed against Youko's finger. She was getting weaker and weaker, that being on top of Youko might soon be the Youko's position. She did not know when her game ended, but the playful air that she was impregnating in the preliminaries was now drawing a dark air as they explore each other. She placed both her arms at the side og Youko's face, while she searched for Youko's light in her obsidian eyes.

It was provocation that made Youko attack Sei's door and pushed herself inside's Sei's apartment and assaulted Sei senseless. It was when Sei (at last) answered the gaddamned phone. The violinist spoke to the lawyer in an unattached and formal manner, a habit Sei usually showed to people she either didn't like or didn't care about. Youko tried to revive the conversation from Sei's one-liner replies by asking too many how and why questions, by being what she did best—being a meddler. Until Sei asked her about her boyfriend. Youko said that they broke up. Sei put more salt upon the wound. Youko let it pass. Then, Sei cornered her with bitch-speak about men being pigs and Youko tolerating those pigs. Abruptly, Youko asked for Sei's fucking problem, in a vicious manner, in a pitch Youko never used. Then, a sharp, thin tone came as Sei's reply. So she came up with the idea of barging in to the violinist's apartment.

"Sei, I love you."

She chanted as she felt the drops of sweat from Sei's forehead. She whispered it over and over again, in the dead of the night, where only the sound of the air conditioning and the low hum from the bedside lamp were heard. Youko heard her reply after the brink of orgasm one lovemaking ago, but she would not expect a reply this time. Sei told her true feelings once, and one from Sei was enough from her. She kissed Sei, just to feel those lips that once said those words to her.

When Sei opened the door after Youko's several minutes of banging it, they stared at each other's eyes for almost two minutes. Sei was looking at her with tired ones, pleading Youko to just leave her alone, while Youko spring forth anger with her obsidian eyes on fire. Then, Youko walked inside, uninvited, hospitality rejected, and grabbed Sei's nape only to swing her against the wall adjacent to the door. Youko closed the door with her lifted foot, banging it, and then she tiptoed and crashed her lips to Sei's. Youko pinned Sei, using all her force, making the latter yield to the idea that Youko might have read Sei's thoughts. That Youko would somehow love her back.

But, wasn't Youko the one who loved first?

It was that idea that made Sei's heart warmed with joy. She was foolish to never notice it. After all, Youko was just a mere mortal, the unreachable mortal.

But mortals are susceptible to errors, and to err is human.

Youko held her tightly, her free hand snaked on Sei's waist as Youko pressed her tightly to the wall. The Red Rose wedged her one leg between Sei's long ones, and pressed her thigh between the latter's inner legs. When Sei tried to budge herself from Youko's prison, Youko pressed harder, and kissed her again. It was a few minutes after she released Sei, when both were out of breath. It was not a pleasant feeling of being suffucated from bliss, thus both of them dropped to the ground, holding each other. Their foreheads were forming sweat, from Youko's assault of kisses. She was panting more for air, until Sei spoke softly.

_Am I the rebound now for that pig?_

_What's your problem, Sei?_

_I would be happy if I'm not your rebound fuck._

_What made you think that?_

_Am I?_

_You never were._

Then Youko pressed herself again to Sei, and kissed her lips again, this time, in a soft lingering manner.

Now, in their second lovemaking, both of them were shouting in ecstasy. Each thrust raised more sensation. More movements, shouting, grunting. Sei had forgotten to think anymore. No more multitasking. She was lost with the pleasure happening between their bodies.

Movement, more movements, more rapid movements.

Then.

Then . . . .

It was before sunrise that Sei had woken up. She thanked herself for being meticulous when she chose the mattress when she bought it right after she acquired the apartment. She was underneath Youko's sleeping form, her head rested on Sei's shoulders, her one hand on Sei's breast. Not that she thought Youko to be _heavy_, but she was surprised that she could still breathe even under this chunk of meat. Youko was rather too glued on Sei's form, but something else was bugging Sei's mind again.

They talked after _that_. Sei, with her uncertainties, demanded immediately of their status. What now? Lovers? Friends? Exclusively dating? What the fuck?

Youko said that she wanted Sei all by herself, that Sei was not her rebound fuck (Sei was not used with Youko cursing bluntly), but she asked only for Sei. She missed her. _So this was a reconciliation fuck? _Sei said. Then Youko replied that she might consider that. . . .

And that she had loved Sei for the longest time.

Sei had nothing else to ask for. She was here anyway, while the unconscious Youko was hogging her body with a possesive arm. The sun rose slowly.

"Hmm, Sei?"

"Youko,"

"Stop staring at the window, and start focusing on me."

And Sei slowly flipped Youko down and pinned her against the bed. "Alright."

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><p>Impenetrable past?<p>

Not anymore. Not when Youko was around.

Not since Youko had been with Sei.

Not since Sei started to love Youko deeply, that she'd forgotten everything else too.

Not when she started to fear that somehow, Youko would be taken away from her.

Not when Youko reminded her everyday that she won't be.


	3. Eriko and Yamanobe

**A/N:** Here is another installment of the one shot series! Thank you for all readers that have been reading the first two chapters; I hope that you are very much satisfied. Here, I focused on the relationship between the Hanadera Academy's Biology teacher, Yamanobe-sensei and the ever fickle Yellow Rose, Torii Eriko. The timeline was set within the span of the light novels, particularly on the 31st volume, where Eriko finally met Yamanobe's daughter. This was set after that fateful meeting. Yeah, this is another het pairing.

Last but not the least, a thousand THANKS and GRATITUDE to whoever was translating the light novels in a certain website for us avid readers. I would have not found my muse without the effort of that person. I wish I could translate Japanese.

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><p><strong>HOW THEY WISH IT WAS RAINING<strong>

_-TheSilentReader-_

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 3<strong>: Eriko and Yamanobe-sensei

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><p><em>A good lover will behave as elegantly at dawn as at any other time. He drags himself out of bed with a look of dismay on his face. The lady urges him on: "Come, my friend, it's getting light. You don't want anyone to find you here." He gives a deep sigh, as if to say that the night has not been nearly long enough and that it is agony to leave. Once up, he does not instantly pull on his trousers. Instead he comes close to the lady and whispers whatever was left unsaid during the night. Even when he is dressed, he still lingers, vaguely pretending to be fastening his sash. • Presently he raises the lattice, and the two lovers stand together by the side door while he tells her how he dreads the coining day, which will keep them apart; then he slips away. The lady watches him go, and this moment of parting will remain among her most charming memories. • Indeed, one's attachment to a man depends largely on the elegance of his leavetaking. <em>

—_THE PILLOW BOOK OF SEI SHONAGON, TRANSLATED AND EDITED BY IVAN MORRIS_

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><p><strong>Leavetaking<strong>

She kissed me all the same—on my cheeks. I knew that she lingered her lips more than was required. I knew that she was expecting more from me, which was quite understandable; this is how young female adult like her would expect from someone like me. She had announced it before, for the fifth time that we've met, that she loved me, and that she would be willing to be taken away by me. No, it did not even sound correct—I was the only one that she would allow to hold her hand. I had been doubtful of her declaration, knowing high school girls were that she was only curious of my peculiarity. But she was curious, indeed. Oh, you know how they play.

Her face was still perilously near my cheeks, her one hand upon my shoulder, her both feet standing on their toes, as she reached for me. We were outside her apartment, and it was now autumn, a clear indication that tonight was dangerously cold for our physical bodies. The wind was already warning us that soon, winter would be coming. Yet, she was still in front of me, not minding the sickening coldness that attacked us like a baseball bat. Yet, I could still feel the tension with her presence, and our location. The warmth of her hands seeped through sheets of thick clothing, while her lips left cold moisture upon my cheek.

"I should go inside."

Her voice suddenly brought me back to concentrate again to the current situation. She was two feet away from me already. Her posture was of good upbringing: her hands joining in front, her feet straight forward and closed together, her shoulders relaxed. As I looked at her face, I concluded that doing so was a bad idea. She smiled, her lips bending upward, but the optimism evoking from those lips was not reaching her eyes. I could tell much, with the peculiar streak of her brows. It was the first time that I saw this kind of expression from her.

"Well, then. I'll be leaving."

She fumbled with the contents of her bag; I stepped further away from her to give her some space. She finally got the key to the apartment door, and unlocked it. Then, she turned around and said formally, "Thank you for taking me home."

One might think that we just went out for a date and I volunteered myself to take her home. The second one was true, while the first—I was not sure. I told her clearly before that I did not love her, there was no point of acknowledging this day as one. I just introduced her to my daughter, whom I usually talked about whenever we meet. Eriko-san was particularly inquisitive about her, asking questions that I thought it might be best to introduce Aki-chan to her. A scientist satisfies her curiosity by observation. Knowing scientific method, coupled with the enthusiasm that I was _observing_ from her, that even just once, I could grace her interest with the pleasure of introducing my family to her. Many things happened, and due to Aki's request for her to visit our home, I ended up driving this college student home. Now, she as she opened the door, the wind suddenly blew against us, that I could not even hold my expression, and said dramatically, "Damn, it's too cold."

What transpired between my five year-old progeny and Eriko-san, I do not know. The first moment that they set their eyes upon each other, I sensed discomfort upon my little girl, that its intensity was equally rivaled Eriko's returned look: curiosity. I thought that Eriko would be taken aback with the attitude that Aki was giving, but then, my daughter is different from her age group. I know enough that she was more perceptive and more mature than her peers. With Eriko-san's reaction was equally astounding for me. Most would have coax Aki to refrain her from being too antagonistic, but in Eriko's case, she responded differently. My daughter almost picked for a challenge, and it seemed that Eriko-san did not detect anything. But when Aki asked for some incense stick for Eriko to use for my late wife's altar, I assumed that my little kid was setting some boundaries and territories, like an alarmed mammal. Showing my wife's altar to Eriko was like pissing on a tree to set boundaries. After all, I have settled with the fact that I still could not get over with her passing, no matter how many years have gone by. It must be with human's monogamous nature, combined with the strict culture that I was brought upon. Or the fact that my daughter reminds me of her. With each passing day, I have not forgotten her, but it helped healing the pain that once devoured me into the threshold of insanity.

It was safe to say that I'm afraid of keeping anyone too close to me.

"Would you like to come in instead?"

Eriko-san suddenly blurted out. But then she immediately put both her hands to her mouth, and gasped. Her eyes were slowly bulging as she looked at me. I tried to act as I heard nothing. She repeated the question again. She knew immediately that I was thinking of ways not to go inside her apartment; it was evident upon her meeting eyebrows. I had no choice but to stall reasons, anything to prevent temptation to commence on creeping upon me. "But your brothers . . ."

She pouted, and said broodingly, "I am the only person in this apartment. My father and brothers won't be here for a fight." Then she opened the door wider, proving to me that there was no other person inside. It was dark inside. It was not her chaos-loving family members that I fear; it was the fact that once I go inside, we are all alone.

While my brain was deliberating with my body, I did not notice Eriko's hands grabbing my jacket and my arm. When my feet reflex for to gain my balance, I realized that I was already inside the room, Eriko-san removing my thick gray scarf from my neck. She placed it on a somewhere—I could not think straight anymore; I was already inside her apartment. I felt warmth upon me as I look at the interiors.

"Place your jacket there. I'll prepare tea. Or coffee, perhaps?" She asked as she disappeared to the kitchen.

The dull white exteriors of the apartment complex changed into pastel colors as I explored her apartment with my eyes. I went to the receiving area, and sat on the tatami mat before a low table. The room suited her. The wallpaper was colored peach (I could only count for that fruit; I'm not particular with colors, even though my daughter insisted that I should understand color-speak), embossed with flower-like designs. There was a television sitting upon large shelves filled with hardbound books (fiction and otherwise), which almost occupied one side of the room. I noticed the newly bought books about dinosaurs. There were several pictures on other adjacent shelves. There was one family picture. I noticed her friends from Lillian Academy—a certain blond and a raven-haired girl were with her in a picture encased in a beautiful iron-colored frame. Another was a group shot, comprising the two previous girls and five more girls that I was sure to be Eriko's kouhai. He recognized them completely; they were also inside the Lillian's school principal when he was summoned there. Another was separate pictures of a short-haired girl and a girl with her hair on long braids. What I did not expect was a picture of me and her at the zoo, me looking ahead to the elephant, while Eriko-san was looking at me. With passion. With just three encounters, she wholly got rid of all her inhibitions. I could not help myself but to stand and take a good look of the picture. I took it from where it stood.

"That's the only picture that I have of you."

I almost forgot that I was holding the picture the moment I heard Eriko's voice that I almost dropped it. I was busted; all I could do was to excuse myself properly for removing the article from its place. "My kouhai at school, the one who summoned you to the principal's office, she took that picture." She smiled at me, as if telling I was a boy who just got a wound from running around. "You were looking at the elephant, not minding everything around you. To be honest, I really got jealous of that mammal."

I have forgotten to decline the tea or coffee that she was offering earlier, and I realized it after she gracefully put a mug of freshly brewed coffee upon the low table. I love black coffee, and I did not even tell her that information. How did she know?

"It's black." I said, as I inspect the mug. "How did you know?"

She settled herself in front of me, folding her legs elegantly, as if she wore kimono. Her gait was that of a rich young woman. Even though we have been meeting over simple lunch a couple of times, I still am not used to her majestic, demure aura. Only the low table separated me from her. Still, she acted the perfect host. "I noticed the coffee-maker in your kitchen. And there was no creamer anywhere near the coffee beans."

She's truly peculiar. But I would never voice that kind of complement. "Very impressive. A true systematic observer."

She ears reddened. But she seemed to suppress anything that depicted happiness, and instead, her eyes moved away from mine, and muttered with a hint of spite, "Do you expect me to be downright inattentive to someone I deeply love?"

Women do get offended easily. My throat suddenly felt dry, even saliva could not act upon my discomfort. The steam of my hot coffee weakly clouded between us. She seemed to be expecting some answer, but I could not agree more of what she stated. It was directed to me, the little minx was pushing her feelings on me again. Before we came to this point, I thought that I could maintain a detached friendship with her, thinking that her interest upon me would soon waver like water on a stream. However, several months after this forced truce between us, our roles seemed to be reversing. I became more interested on her thought patterns, her behaviors, and the psychology of her being. Based from what I observed from her attitude, I extrapolate her actions, her words, her reactions to any stimuli, and thus far, my assumptions, almost all of them have been wrong. Her life was like lice on hair growth, or mosquitoes piercing onto the epidermis down to the narrow capillary—it was an itch that needed to be scratched.

The faster I grate my fingernails upon dead epidermal cells, the more I got satisfaction.

I expected her to be carried away with my simple compliment. But her response seemed otherwise. She was not impressed by my logic.

Yet, I could not voice out my real thoughts. "Eriko-san, my feelings . . ."

She stopped me even before I could finish my sentence. "If you think that my _feelings_ for you are superficial, you have no idea how erroneous you are." She looked at me in the eye. I felt that I was like a bug trapped in a spider web, the black widow ready to suck my dry. "I never joked when I told you that I love you. It never changed, even with the feigned ignorance that you have been dispatching around lately." She bit her lip. She seemed to be eyeing on some lint on her cardigan.

Did she even know what I was about to say?

I thought she was going to stay on her position; I was wrong again. Instead, she excused herself and went to her bedroom. There were a little partition between the receiving area and the bedroom, but there was no door that would lock her up inside. My thoughts rapidly changing into something that I tried not to entertain, therefore, I sank my lips upon the lid of the mug, and drank my black coffee.

The coffee was good. It was of the right flavor. She added a little sugar, too. I was enjoying too much the pleasure of Eriko's coffee, stimulant as it was, until the fact that Eriko disappeared to her bedroom gave me the idea of the worst situation a man could ever be. The battle between priorities and desires came over me like lectures of Erik Erickson. Being too scholarly or even the acute fascination to any large organism did not excuse me to the pressure to fulfill a natural reward called sex.

Suddenly the coffee seemed to be at its full potential in a matter of seconds, and the heater became too excited to do its function. One opened button of my shirt was not enough to diffuse the heat in me; therefore I resorted to fanning myself with my hands. Unsatisfied, I huffed my apparel by the chest repeatedly. Still unsatisfied, I opened another button down. She was still not coming out of the room. I still need to leave her house properly; leaving the half-empty mug and not even thanking her for the small service would be to ungrateful. She might think that I was just taking advantage of her.

I am _not_ that kind of man. Although my confusion eddied into much turmoil as I analyzed the situation—I should have not allowed myself get inside her apartment. I could have just acted like a grown senior, scolded her, and insisted that it was improper to invite an older man to her home. When I was about to get up, she came out of her room. Reflex obliged me to sit down again.

The cardigan that she was wearing was now gone, leaving a pale yellow dress that only had thin straps upon her shoulders. She removed her red headband too, which was a very prominent change upon her appearance; never could I imagine her without it. So this was the dress that was hiding under her cardigan? As I noticed her slender frame upon the door, my eyes drifted from her un-banded head, her pale brown eyes, her salmon pink (my daughter insisted to memorize color-speak) cheeks, her red-stained lips. I fought against my basal instincts to scan further down her length—her pale neck, the slight line of her collarbone, the smooth slopes of her slender shoulders, the ample swelling of her breasts—no, this is not what I'm supposed to be doing, ogling at her like a dirty geezer.

"Sensei?"

I stood up from where I sit, embarrassed of my action. I knew that I should remove myself anywhere near her; I need time to compose myself. It was not new that she was beautiful, and I am a witness to her unfaltering exquisiteness as days of or meetings went by. Every time I see her, she reveals her every facet to me, unafraid to voice out her thoughts and feelings. I kept on assuming that she would somehow act otherwise, to act rather girly, clumsy or flirty (she aimed for my affection, that I'm much aware), but she had never done anything inappropriate. Not once she pushed herself upon me, to try anything sly. Where could one even find a woman like her? I have forgotten how smitten I was with one of their species before.

"Eriko-san, I need to leave. My daughter might be looking for me."

I bowed down, more prostrated than required; I don't want her to see what I have been thinking for the past moment. It was inappropriate, this desire to satisfy my senses beyond the color and architecture of her dress.

"Oh, right, Sensei."

She knew what I was thinking—I am sure of it. The moment was too embarrassing that she walked rather too fast to the door to usher me out. She un-hanged my jacket, and waited for me to proceed. I put on my shoes. I was at the door, she was behind me, I was about to twist the door knob, when suddenly I heard her sighing, "Goodbye, Sensei." I stopped anything that required energy, and focused upon the meaning of her farewell. Yet, I could not process anything.

Without thinking, I let the door remain closed as I reached out for the nape of her neck and kissed her.

I still could not gauge the deepness of my affection for her; all I know was that she had occupied a place in me that I could not ignore anymore. We only had few moments that we considered romantic. Always I tried to be a good elder for this younger woman. She had stated clearly that she loved me dearly, no matter how peculiar I was, regardless of my circumstances, and she was proving it to me ever since we decided to be friends. If I could be more of a smart man, I could have taken the opportunity of playing her. I could have considered her a distraction. Yet, I was here in her apartment, frustratingly admitting to myself that her efforts are now pulling off—she has been capturing more and more of my affection. When she met my daughter, and was equally fond with her, I felt a surge of happiness upon me. I could not blame it alone to serotonin, I guess.

She responded with a gasp, but still, I held on her neck, savoring her unguarded condition and aimed my mouth upon hers. She tasted good, too good. Her lips were moving against mine, and she was riding on the pace that I wanted. I felt the increasing firm grip of her arms on my torso; one arm snaking upon my upper back, her fingernails digging on my white shirt. One hand was caressing across my pectorals, grazing her palms onto my neck, and settled on my cheek. I have not noticed that mine was moving on its own accord—her sharp hips felt soft upon the digits of my hand. Her hair was soft too, as I grazed my other hand from her nape to the scalp of the back of her head. I was too caught up with our kissing that I had not known that I had pinned her already upon the door. My hands were running up and down her back, while she fisted on my hair to settle my lips upon her longer, in a very demanding fashion. Her other hand was running upon my abdomen too, erratic of its direction that I was suffering where she would place her hand next. She gasped again when I parted her legs with one knee, as I left her mouth and swept her neck and collarbone with my lips, tongue and teeth. Her heaving chest were dangerously closer now to my mouth, but I was too intoxicated with her scent—a natural fragrance that came from her breasts that could not help but got over any inhibition and feasted on one covered breast. She moaned in response. I gently cupped the other breast, and returned kissing her on the mouth. She countered with much force; our kisses were wetter and more arousing that the previous ones—her tongue darting and fighting against mine. One of her legs fastened on mine, telling me that I should get closer—much closer—to her.

I could not recall how long we have been doing this . . . somehow inhibited passion between our mouths and bodies when we stopped just to get air into our abused and deprived lungs. We heaved for air, large amounts of it. No sound registered upon my ears other than our rapid gasps. When I looked into her eyes, they were misted, glistening with passion, wanting more than just this torrid kissing. My jacket was on the floor. I looked at her body: the hem of her dress was shifted upward, the zipper on at the back of the dress was almost unzipped on its way down, the straps were on the sides of her arms, and her chest was showing much of her cleavage and skin, that I already noticed tiny hints of her nipples. I shifted upon my status; only one button of my shirt was left unfastened, and the sleeves were already pushed down to reveal my shoulders and torso. Her hair was a mess. When I realized what I've done (_fuck_, I initiated it!), I removed myself from leaning too close to her fervent body. I could not look through her eyes, I could not think of any excuse for my aggression, "Eriko-san—"

She stopped me with a finger upon my lips. "I'm not offended."

Yet, a barrier seemed to separate both of us, leading to a shared embarrassment. With nothing else to offer, I swiftly took both of her hands, and faced her again. "No apology could appeal with what I did. You must think that I am abusing you with mixed signals."

She was blushing while she looked down. "I did not expect my first kiss to be this . . . messy, but in general, I love the way you took care of me." She seemed to notice that one button of my shirt was let unfastened, therefore, she gently removed her hands on mine and fastened the next upper button. One by one she buttoned my shirt. I just watched her fascinated to this situation that used to be distant memory from my past. When she finished them all, she slowly smoothed the wrinkles upon the planes of my shoulders and chest with her both hands, and whispered, "You know that I'm always be waiting for you. I'll wait, until you've settled on keeping me."

When she looked at me again, she smiled.

She began to arrange her dress. I could not fathom that she was the only one taking care of this mess, therefore, getting permission from her, "Here, let me." I gently pulled the straps to her shoulders. I reached up to her back while she gained support by putting both her hands on my chest and leaning on me, and zipped her dress back to place. When I began to comb her hair with my hands, I told her, "I think I need to go, before it gets too late." I said too guiltily.

She fastened some hair at the back of her ear, "Yes, I think you should."

When I reached for the doorknob, I said again, "Goodnight, Eriko."

"Goodnight, Sensei."

I kissed her again. Briefly on the lips.

She watched me walked away from the apartment complex, even in the cold. She was still wearing the dress, without putting on any warm clothing. She watched me walked away, with a smile on her face.

I, on the other hand, could not take my eyes off of her anymore. I repeatedly turned around until she went back inside.

I need to come up with some intelligent reason for Aki-chan for my long absence.

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><p><em>END<em>


	4. Kashiwagi Suguru

This chapter is for the most hated bastard in the land of Marimite universe. However, this is not dedicated to bash him out of his existence, but to humanize him, somehow. It was quite obvious that I like him so much, even though Sei doesn't trust him, even though he hurt Sachiko before, and even though he's always acting so smart-ass. I think that I want to defend his side and put some spine and flaws to him, flaws that everyone might agree and understand.

This is a little Kashiwagi/Yumi fic; I tried to deviate this from my fangirling tendencies, but I guess I failed once again. I am having some crisis about that pairing. Generally, I like Yumi/Sachiko centric fanfictions, however, liking Kashiwagi too, I could not help but notice their chemistry. Sorry. Please don't flame me. But if you bravely read this fic, then please account even on anything! The little plot . . . the wordplay . . . anything! I am so freaking desperate.

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><p><strong>HOW THEY WISH IT WAS RAINING<strong>

_-TheSilentReader-_

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><p>Chapter 4: Kashiwagi Suguru<p>

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><p><strong>Sachiko's Eavesdropping<strong>

"You are not going beyond that sixty mark!"

"Am I really a bad driver?"

"Yes, you are! What if Sachiko-sama woke up because of your driving?"

I already was wide awake after I heard Yumi's voice from the passenger's seat. I lost consciousness again, after the long walks from the shopping district. Yumi had been exceedingly excited to roam around town, visiting different shops and establishments. The moment she received her requirements for her study plan, she immediately informed me about her excursion. We belonged to different departments—the college of architecture was too different from the arts and letters—I could not give her any advice about her particular course but only the general guidelines. Even their general course subjects were different from mine. Even though I terribly missed our youthful, sisterly closeness during high school, I could not guide my little butterfly as much as I wanted to.

I insisted that I join her at the district, as I squeezed my schedule to be the day of her trip. I devised a white lie, telling her that a sophomore, too, could still have tough adjustments as one ascend from a lower grade. She's a newly graduate from the prestigious Lillian Academy, and now she would be pursuing architecture in Lillian U. Before, I could just watch her from the side of the university grounds, she walking upon the gingko trees to Maria-sama's statue. Now, she can walk together with me, which is rather too cool in my part. Being her onee-sama, that is. She was quite famous among the uni students; she had done far greater achievements during her high school years as Rosa Chinensis. When the news broke out that she was going to Lillian U, many uni students had been enquiring about her. Particularly the members of a sorority of architecture students.

I am very particular with these people who pursuing my little Yumi to their organization. The first thought that came to my mind whenever I heard sorority was endless, pointless parties, and excessive drinking. Ever since I left high school, I was shocked with the culture that Lillian U had inside its garden. It was as if Maria-sama were not watching at all—the students have given freedom and liberty that chaos had been too normal. I wonder how Yumi would react in this kind of environment. I had a bizarre sense of cultural shock last year; how about her? If _Lillian University_ had been this frenzied, then what would other universities be? If ever she accepted Tokyo U? Or even other universities that had offered Yumi?

"Yumi-chan, I'm not that insensitive."

"It's alright, as long as Onee-sama is not disturbed."

It was also exceedingly annoying that the first person that she should call after I felt lost consciousness was Suguru-san. I had always taken advantage of the fact that, both of them rub each other at the wrong places whenever they meet, as a defense that there would always be someone who would take my side. Like what happened two years ago. After she had heard that my misfortune over the driver, who happened to be my former fiancé, Yumi had always branded him as the sole weed that needs to be eradicated. The experience was too bitter, that to spite the man that has been my closest cousin was my only satisfaction—until I met Yumi.

My body was now covered with a makeshift blanket, something that has been inside Suguru-san's sports car ever since he acquired it. I happen to use the blanket most of the time, in many unremarkable situations, in many disappointing days. I have used it the first time I went to see my ill grandmother two years ago; I have used it the time that I first tried driving Suguru-san's car during one of my private driving lessons with him; I have used it the day that Yumi and I had a date at the amusement park. Now, I am using it again. It was of the same pattern, the same cloth, the same texture. I checked the blanket and rated its cleanliness; I noticed that Suguru-san had been regularly washing it.

Speaking of washing . . . had Suguru ever tried to do his own laundry?

"You know, it really hurts me that we are always fighting. I am not really bad, am I?"

That question suddenly slashed my train of thought into tiny little fragments. Never in my life that I have heard Suguru say such line of his sense of insignificance and lack of self-confidence. He was not flirting, like he used to do. It was not an easy banter that Yumi's radar was particularly sensitive, but of a sort of like a little boy, trying to please his girl playmate, for spoiling her new dress while playing at the sandbox. For me he was always the big brother, the kind who always has the right answers even to wrong questions. We occasionally fought, more so after he said that he was gay, but these were all just because of my misunderstood prejudice for him. He did not mind. He did not mind changing what I thought of him, for as long as he was able to get off with the silly arranged marriage. But, now, sensing Suguru's speck of desperation to ease Yumi was entirely upsetting. I felt slightly jealous and enraged, because I was foreseeing a dreadful future that could possibly be happening right now.

I could not just snapped out and act that I was finally awake just to break their flow of conversation—it was to disrespectful for Suguru's sake. Not only as I curious of what Yumi was thinking of him, but also of what Suguru-san had been thinking. All this time. He was never a person to speak of his true feelings; he tends to listen and give insights about what he heard. He never told her the truth that he just did not want to marry her, but instead, he said such a ridiculous lie for me to dislike him. Touko-chan and he were very alike—they rather have their reputation spoiled to the people that mattered to them, rather than to let them see their true feelings. But now, everything was out of sorts.

I heard a little sigh at the front passenger seat. The car had been running strangely smooth, and it was not honking along the highway with light-bending, turbulent speed. For the first time, I recommend this kind of driving from the devil himself. "You, know, Kashiwagi-san, you're not really bad." Another ream of silence enveloped the car. "I was very grateful that you're always there to support me, even at times that I've felt worst."

When on earth did that happen? And when did she ever confide to Suguru-san about anything that disturbed her, rather than to consult me first?

"Although you always give the most cryptic advices." I heard Yumi giggled.

Cryptic, that's what he is. In a way, Yumi and I have found an invisible thread that connects our minds. But, no one could ever cloud my mind in confusion other than him and Sei-sama. They always disagree with each other, but that was because they share common sentiments and viewpoints, although with different intentions. It was as if they could read each other's thoughts, and was not happy that they shared similar ideas. Beyond their jolly and devil-may-care exterior were dark secrets that they wanted to get themselves away from, pressures that they secretly hurdle. I could not even imagine Suguru to be close to anyone, except for Yuuki-san and Touko-chan. Even though Suguru claimed two years ago that he was homosexual, did not mean that he was particularly interested with Yumi's younger brother. The fact that Yuuki-san had been in several stages of hell just to capture Touko's special attention, while Suguru-san was delightfully endorsing the poor man to his cousin. Yet, questions still remained unanswered within me . . . when did Yumi appreciate Suguru-san more than she usually does?

And, when was the first time that they changed their attitude towards each other?

"It was not easy giving advices that I myself could not execute sometimes." I felt a small suggestion of guilt upon his voice. He continued, while I tried to appear unmoved, "Although I sometimes knew the answers, I could not just give them away like free instant coffee in a grocery store."

"You know grocery stores, Kashiwagi-san?"

"Of course I do. Being with Yukichi and Kobayashi brings you into a different world, sometimes." I could sense him grinning ridiculously.

"That's so rude."

"That was supposed to be a compliment." For Suguru and I, that is.

I caught, while trying to see though the small slits of my eyelids, an earnest expression that Yumi had while he faced a driving Suguru. He sighed as he continued. "Sometimes, people take such advices for granted because even a slight stress of effort was not done to discover them. Intuition could lead you to the right answers, if you are willing to face the truth behind them. Because right answers do not constantly convey goodness or positivity."

I looked at Suguru-san, without moving an inch, thinking of his situation that made him say those things. He was the only son of the current Kashiwagi patriarch. Of all her cousins, he was the oldest. He was the scion of a great company that his late grandfather ha founded, although the Kashiwagi family was very old, with very close relations with the Ogasawara. Everything was expected of him, as a son, as a future head of the family, of the company. At the age of twenty, he was expected to be prepared for them, that even if his father would have an untimely death, he could step into the old shoes without any splinter upon his toes. He was, after all, the only son of a very rich family, a successor to a very lucrative and successful company. "Otherwise, your search is fruitless."

"It must be hard, Kashiwagi-san, to be always on your own, right?"

Yumi said what no one would dare say to Kashiwagi.

"I guess. I claim my pride for the bounties that I've gain, like the advices I used to give you. They were hard to find. They're not free, as they should always be, but I've violated my personal mandate by giving you hints."

He did not laugh at what Yumi said. He took the blow without any resistance. I hate to admit this, although I am proud of Yumi about her special ability that Suguru-san was confiding at her in countless levels than I could account for myself. As if Yumi had been there all along.

"It took me a few months to discover the answers from your hints about Touko-chan, you know. I was quite proud of myself, that I've felt peace even at that tremulous time. For me to experience peace, not just for Touko but for everyone, gave me a clearer perspective about everything, about Touko's feelings, about my feelings."

Only the sound of the car's hum was heard.

It took a while for Suguru to reply. "I'm glad to hear that." He did not chuckle, but only joy was felt after I heard it.

"I wish that I could repay you for everything you've _hinted_." Yumi chuckled again.

Then, the rain began to pour. No one spoke as small drops of rain began to transform into big globules, as if it came from a thunderstorm. At that time, I felt the shiver, and unconsciously adjusted the blanket that was covering me.

Suguru might not want to hear this, but he was having a communion with my little Yumi, that later on, he might regret that he had gone far too close for comfort. Yumi might not want to hear this too, even from the mouth of her Onee-sama, that she could wrap anyone in her finger even with just a little effort. She was unconsciously manipulative, however never intimidating. Her honesty was rather a blessed sword. It does not scare you, but it could make you do everything just to see it again with your eyes. Suguru was now being struck by the blessed sword.

Suguru, may Maria-sama bless you.

"Why don't you go out with me."

No, I take that back.

Go out? What do you mean by that? Like a date? No, that is definitely out of the question! Even if you were my cousin! And even if you were gay!

"Are you flirting with me again, Kashiwagi-san? You know that's never going to work with me."

I was about to clap my hands in jubilation—I was so proud with Yumi's words—but I stopped myself, realizing that there would be more information to extract being in stealth mode, rather than to break into rampage and shut the whole conversation forever. But, who knows? Suguru-san might attempt to have his way with my cute little sister. I would not allow that. Not at all. Yumi deserved a better man than him—only that I could not think of anyone more worthy.

"No, I am not."

This is horrible. Kashiwagi Suguru: not flirting? This is becoming dangerous. Please do not lead this conversation to a future similar of what I foresee a while ago.

"You are joking, are you not, Kashiwagi-san?"

Please do not lead this conversation to a future similar of what I foresee a while ago.

"No. I am very serious about this."

I felt Yumi's life suddenly crumbling away, like dried sand against raging waves. "What about you being . . . being . . ."

Please do not lead this conversation to a future similar of what I foresee a while ago.

"I never said to you that I'm gay. I may lie to Sachiko about my sexuality, but I have never lied to you." You—you're not?

How dare you lie to me! Please don't—don't—do not lead this conversation to a future similar of what I foresee a while ago!

"But I still don't trust you, Kashiwagi-san."

Please do not—_What_?

That was an unexpected answer from Yumi. After all that she'd said her profound speech a while ago, now she was saying that she doesn't trust him? Isn't following someone's advice an indication of trust?

The rain was beginning to slow down, and the hum of the car was getting more pronounced than the late afternoon rain. Suguru-san was still not reacting from what Yumi said a while ago, which was making me more nervous. I was relieved that somehow Yumi was able to deflect the course of the conversation, and negate it entirely by initiating her mistrust to the man. But, must I rejoice to Suguru's despair?

"May I know why?"

His voice was dreadfully quiet; this was the first time I heard this tone from him.

Yumi's voice was lower than before that I had to inconspicuously adjust myself to hear her speak. In any way, the passenger's seat at the back was narrower and closer than the family car, therefore, a little shift was enough to hear her again. Oh, forgive me for having sinned. "You may have not lied to me before, but you might in the future. If you could lie to Onee-sama even though I know that you were close, then how am I going to expect that you would not do the same in the future?"

My Yumi had matured a lot. I was still shocked even by the selection of words that she used. When did she get to learn to decline without giving cute-little-dinosaur sounds?

"I tried to protect her from me."

What are you saying, Kashiwagi-san?

"I could not give her the half the love that she was willing to give me even when she was sixteen. I could not love her as a wife. I loved her dearly as a little sister, but never more to desire her. Do you understand me?"

Yumi remained quiet. Suguru, however, lowered her voice, because they were talking about me. I, on the other hand, remained as dead as a rock, trying to find balance while hearing Suguru's sentiments about me. I have never heard the real reason why he rejected me, and even if I discovered it out of eavesdropping, I don't care. It was about me.

"She was just sixteen. Although I know that maturity doesn't lie on age alone, I could not just let her emotions get to the real situation. She was always conforming to her parents, doing everything they wanted her to do. Without qualms, she obeyed. She never decided for herself. Even the marriage she was never consulted, as it was an agreement of my parents and hers. I am afraid that when the time comes, when everyone more powerful than her was gone, she could not be able to find herself again."

Oh my.

I wished I have a voice recorder. I felt stinging upon the rim of my eye. There was an eerie feeling that Onee-sama, Mizuno Youko, just whispered me to a lullaby. On second thought, she was probably in the middle of sneezing.

"But it was the other side of the coin. I was selfish too. You were right when you said that I want her to decide to cancel our engagement. It was because I was afraid to tell my father myself that I don't want to wed her. Because it would cause another disappointment for my father. There would be less injury for my pride if Sachiko would cancel it herself."

I also thought about that probability, we knowing each other do well. Oh, you selfish imp.

"But, still, Kashiwagi-san. I couldn't go out with you yet."

That's my girl. "Why not? It would just be a cup of tea."

"I want to have my feelings sorted out before I go out with anyone."

Therefore . . . ? "Yumi, it would just be a cup of tea."

"Tea?"

"Yes, just tea."

"Not a date?"

Of course not! "Depends on how you see it. You see it as a mere 'thank you teatime' while I considered it as a date."

"That's unfair. You will have your way with me."

"That's all I ask of you in return,"

"Alright, alright, fine."

"For now."

"That is so _unfair_. We're quits after we have tea. Nothing more. And I am still angry about you lying to Onee-sama."

"You're not happy that I'm not gay?"

Yumi was quiet again, until she squeaked with delight. "I guess I am. Because that would confirm that you did not attempt anything ecchi to my little brother. When I thought about it, I want to bury you alive because, of all people, you target Yuuki as your punching bag at flirting."

"I never touched him. Although I pecked at him one time . . ."

"Kashiwagi-san, do not joke about my brother!"

"Shhhh. Be quiet. Sa-chan might hear all of this. Are you going to keep this a secret from her?"

"What secret?"

"The date."

"Yes, I'm going to tell her later. But not now. She's tired."

"She'll most likely be enraged at me trying to steal you away."

"I would not let myself be stolen away. Besides, you're Kashiwagi-san. I don't think you're interested with the likes of me."

"Have you not been listening to anything that I say?"

"Does she know that you're not gay?"

"Who? Sa-chan? I would not care. But if you accept my request for a date, I probably have no choice but to tell her the truth."

"You're kidding."

"I'm serious."

"Yumi?" I intervened. I could not take any more "I'm serious" from my cousin. I noticed their agitation upon hearing my voice, and quickly acted as if nothing happened, as if there were no conversation between them. Yumi turned her face at me. "What were you serious about, Suguru-san?" I muttered.

Oh, there, he crawled back in his old skin again. My cousin had changed his demeanor to all flirty but detached. He was hiding his feelings again, in front of me. He laughed nonchalantly, and said, "Oh, Sa-chan, that was nothing. I was just teasing Yumi-chan here." He reached out his hand to my petite souer and ruffled her hair. "Right, Yumi-chan."

Yumi too, became different. Her answer was not like I used to overhear a while ago. "I—I guess so."

"Yumi?" I tried to ask again, in case that she changed her mind about keeping her secret from me.

"It's nothing of importance, Onee-sama."

The car bolted beyond the sixty mark, and was now speeding up to the point that I was beginning to get carsick again. This was a way for Suguru-san to get over an obvious lie that Yumi had just said. That conversation, somehow, weighed more than they wanted to admit, more than she wanted it to be. It was written all over her face, that she still could not understand my cousin, and because of that, she could not trust her more than she wanted to. She knew that he's dependable and kind.

Yumi once again scolded Suguru-san. He complied again. All were quiet.

I suddenly wondered why I never got car-sick while eaves-dropping to their conversation.


	5. Hasekura Rei

**A/N: **I just had a bad day. And I think it did reflect upon my writing. Moving on . . . welcome to another chapter of HTWIWR! This is my first time writing a crime/detective one shot; so please, leave a note. Hands down to those who would read and bravely click the button down there and started reviewing. Why am I desperate for reviews in one? Because the main character is REI. She's a cool character, and the complexity—not only that, the irony of her whole being (that sound so awkward). I wrote this fic out of the fact that Rei deserves to have one!

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><p><strong>HOW THEY WISH IT WAS RAINING<strong>

_-TheSilentReader-_

* * *

><p>The Existence of Her Job<p>

Hasekura crossed the yellow tape into the crime scene as she covered herself more with her maroon long coat, clutching its sides to prevent the cold autumn wind to further assault her skin, even with her white button-down shirt and black jeans she was wearing beneath it. She had just composed dragging reports of three separate homicide cases and submitted them to her department chief at exactly three hours ago; now, she was fresh from a hot bath—she was about to splash the second fill of a small dipper full of water when she got an emergency call that a body was found dead. Yet, that small discomfort for not having a decent bath did not bother her at all. As she discovered a constant hatred seeing the yellow tape flashing before her eyes, she wanted to solve any case assigned to her as soon as possible.

The existence of her job was the reason she did not become a P.E. teacher.

The detective was assigned to the homicide department at Musashino; however, accomplished she was during her training at the academy, she insisted that she should be where home was. She did not have any prior connection to the police, neither were her parents, but being able to convince her superiors to reassign her from her post from the other side of the city was an indication that somehow, she had a purpose to be where she wanted to be. Her attachment to the place was as personal as her existence. Her bread-and-butter, after all, was the life-sustaining drug to prevent her from losing herself.

She moved about the dead body, pinning a strand of her now shoulder length hair, while the medical examiner had been reciting to her the time of death that she needed to prep herself up for further sleuthing. Her two fellow detectives, Ryusaki Ichigo and Mori Kyo, were briefing her of the information they gathered from the moment the body was discovered, the victim's identity, the witness' name, to the possible cause of death.

And just like the moon and sun, her cases have always been murders, homicides.

"This is terrible." Mori simultaneously flashed the DSLR camera to the different angles of the impaled corpse, mentally noting possible scenarios that made a school girl considered dead, garnering three stab wounds upon her abdomen, neck dabbed violet with hand marks, and eyes almost rolled at the back of her head, and dried saliva upon her sides of her lower cheeks.

Ichigo, the taller and larger of the two of her colleagues, pointed with his gloved hands, "We thought that the killer strangled first the victim to suffocate her, as seen from the marks at her neck, but the hold did not was not enough to shatter the windpipe, so then he smashed her head repeatedly, as seen from the dirt-covered wound at the occipital portion of the head . . . ." Hasekura sat down upon her calves and crouched near to the victim's head. The killer was not satisfied by just blocking the passageway of her lungs—the killer smashed the head, and then stabbed her repeatedly. Either this was out of pure hatred for the victim, or he was just was just bloodthirsty that he wanted blood to be spilling.

_He:_ that was only an assumption.

Thus the pool of blood bathing the girl's dark uniform. She tried not to step on the almost dried blood. She struggled not to vomit the remaining acid of her empty gut.

"Have uniforms check the grounds for the murder weapon and evidences that our killer might carelessly left behind. Get everything here dusted. And someone please get the press out of the premises of the school." She instructed.

She stood up, feeling nauseous. She could feel the bile and acid neutralizing in her abused stomach, yet she retaliated by slowly bobbing her head forward. She must not be overtaken by recurring memories, yet she wanted to get away, failing to pretend that she encountered this kind of victim for the first time.

Lillian high school student. Drenched in blood. Found dead hidden at the bushes and towering lines of ginkgoes of the cobbled pathway to Maria-sama. Suffocation by asphyxiation. Stabbed three times. This was too different from what happened before; but as she fixed her gaze upon the uniform, she was witnessing _death._

She was seeing someone else's face, and not the victim's.

Her partner, Uesugi Jin, his presence unknown to Hasekura, stabled her by a shoulder, shoving her out of her hallucination. "Hasekura-san."

She now felt the prickling autumn wind beyond the superficial layers of her covered skin. Even with the long coat, she shivered that she felt the cold gripping her bones. She felt weak, yet she needed shrug it off.

"The M.E. needs to secure the body now."

She gulped as she tried to act normal. "Any information about the girl's identity?" she grabbed a folder from Uesugi's hand, flipping through pages. The M.E. then signaled her assistants to acquire a stretcher from the ambulance.

"The school principal had been contacted already by Mori. The sister's on her way here. The division head too was called to identify. There's no report yet of any missing Lillian student. Maybe, she's living alone, without adult supervision. There was no bag or anything near the vicinity that would disclose her identity, not even a student handbook." He checked his own notepad for confirmation.

"Did he call the _highschool_ division head?"

"Yes. How do you know about the academic level?"

"That white neckerchief." She looked briefly at the body. "She's in high school division. I wouldn't be surprised if she had a rosary upon her neck. If her parents were influential and rich, this would cause a stir to the media. They might even poke into the investigation by hiring someone with better toys." She muttered later, almost to herself, "Her family, her _grande soeur,_ and _petit soeur_ will be shattered by this."

"_Soeur_?" Uesugi repeated. "What are you talking about?"

She had forgotten that he was transferred here a year ago from Kyoto. Rei sighed and looked straight to the statue of Maria-sama, glistening under the bright, uncovered moon. "I used to wear that same kind of _sefuku._"

* * *

><p>The results from the M.E. had been submitted to her first thing in the morning, right after she went upon the thirteenth floor of the police station. The precinct was large enough to cover employment for a hundred of fresh graduates of the academy, but some of them could really enter inside and secure at least a working desk. Yet with the increasing complexity of crimes these days, from simple robbery to mass terrorism, the building had been the sink of too many divisions, each seemed assigned to a specific crime. But even with her excellent record in her job in the homicide division at a span of few years, all she wanted for her turf were a decent work table, an efficient laptop, and the classic murder board. With the extreme budget cuts this year, government funding was like a pot of gold at the end of a deceiving rainbow—but she would not be stunned by slacking off and doing a mediocre job because she hasn't had enough gadgets to play with. Yet, she felt she could change everything even with just a Glock hanging upon her holster.<p>

She headed to the elevator and punched the number of the floor where medical examinations were held. She found easy talk with a good friend and M.E., Hanabishi Kyouko, who had been secretly dating one of the detectives belonging to Rei's floor. The name of the man, though, was still unknown; Rei did not want to ponder upon his identity.

She smelled sterilizing yet repulsive QUATS upon opening the door. She was already used to the smell of blood, opened intestines, fermented urine and feces, and the gruesome tinkering with scalpel and forceps that Kyouko had somehow enjoyed, but she would never be used to a cadaver of a Lillian highschool student—or any young girl for that matter. It was a fact that she had lived on ever since the first time she checked bodies after bodies on a daily basis. Old, young, middle-aged male cadavers—she can eat her least favorite food in front of them; but with young women, she could not even enter the chamber without taking deep breaths first.

"Come on. This will be over." Hanabishi smiled as she noticed Hasekura briefly took a look at the victims face before settling her eyes to a less traumatized body part—the foot.

"Right; thanks. Now give me something good." The detective folded her arms to her front.

As Hanabishi testified every bit of physical trauma that had been found upon the body, Rei listened intently, memorizing every word the M.E. mouthed, even though a memo would be given to her before she moves out the chamber. She felt her forehead forming long, branched lines upon her brows and forehead, as she tried to listen to the ways that led this dead girl to her horrid fate.

All she could think about was Yoshino. And with that she had foreseen an impending migraine.

"Here's the report of everything foreign from the body. And that included the lints upon her fingernails. She must have scraped a clothing of the —look," she motioned Rei to look at an extensive research microscope, "lints, and traces of thread from some clothing. This could be anything, without considering the material. I'll let the others analyze them."

"Thanks. Just give me the results as soon as possible. I'll take a look again at her." She sighed, and force herself to examine the vic with gloved hands. "I don't like this case."

"Give that a good look before leaving." The M.E. could only advise vaguely. Rei knew what she was hinting at her.

She was never this subjective and unprofessional when it comes to cases involving teenage girls.

* * *

><p>"She's very private with her personal affairs. Yeah, she talks to others but not as open as with her onee-sama."<p>

"She only comes here for club practice. One of the sempai in the club is her grande soeur."

"She's very close to her onee-sama. The last time I saw her, she was having a heated discussion with her. I never thought that this would happen. Ask her. She's the only one she's been talking to."

"Lately, she'd been agitated."

Hours of listening to the girls' testimonies, Rei had been virtually walking in an endless circle—but at least she's getting something out of the girls. Her grande soeur. The testimonies had been circling around the closeness of their sisterhood. Through the two-way mirror to the interrogation room, Rei watched, silently. The said onee-sama was sitting elegantly upon the chair, and her hands were situated at the table. Even mourning, the vic's onee-sama could not find herself in a more unfeminine state. As if her uniform was preventing her to mourn freely.

She went to the other room. Rei looked at the profile. She was very much like Sachiko—the vic's onee-sama. There had been too many interference, particularly from the girl's family that she only be interviews in the presence of her lawyer. Rei snorted silently as the representative of the family tried to recite the ojou-sama's human rights, but the girl commanded him to be quiet, because she wanted to be interviewed. Rei understood; she's cooperating.

She understood how an onee-sama felt when she could not do anything to save her imouto from death.

"I'm detective Hasekura Rei."

When they were in the interrogation room, Rei started the conversation. "Yahiko-san, you don't have to sit that stiffly. You're not inside the school anymore." She watched the young girl forced herself out of her habit.

"No, it's fine."

Indeed like Sachiko. She may be outside Lillian, but she still donned the black uniform. She doesn't want to be boss around. Hasekura commenced her questioning; if the girl's like her old classmate and friend, then she'd have to pick her words carefully. "You are the girl's onee-sama at school. I know the tradition; back in my time, I was once the Rosa Foetida. I too, had a little sister that I really loved." She let the works hang too long. She continued, "As her onee-sama, surely you should have known everything about her . . . her problems. I heard that you recently had a fall-out. Is that true?"

"Yes, that's true." The girl silently admitted.

"What was the fall-out about?"

"It's stupid. And we reconciled already."

"Still, you have to tell me."

Long silence. Yet, Rei let her take the time as if it were not a luxury at all. That is the problem with _them_, sometimes. They don't know how time _costs_ just like they consider other things. The girl took a lengthy sigh. Her hands crumpled. "It was about the nature of our relationship."

"What about it?" Rei remembered; the Yellow Rose Revolution, as they called it. It was embarrassing and hurtful to remember it now, but she could not help it, not when her memories of young Yoshino have been in her mind ever since she saw the interviewee's dead little sister.

"She'd confessed that she'd fallen in love with me. I could not accept her feelings before. . ." she watched Yahiko as the latter tried not to break into tears. Her knuckles became more visible as words flowed out. ". . . Because of many reasons." She looked sideways, to an empty stool on her left, which was supposed to be reserved for her lawyer and family representative.

She continued, "And yet, she decided to wait for me, to 'make sense' as she eloquently pointed out, even if I flatly objected. Two weeks ago, I accepted her feelings. She was so happy—we were so happy about it, but I insisted to keep things in secret. I don't want my family to know about it, and she gracefully considered my reason. I don't want to let our relationship be known. Yet her ex-boyfriend—"

Rei perked her brows. "Ex-boyfriend?"

Rei could sense the irritation upon the ojou-sama's heated eyes the moment she repeated the word _koibito._ "Yes." She let the girl continued, "She tried to break up with him before she confessed to me."

Rei procured a small smile. "Thank you for bravely telling that to me." She only received a hurtful, almost teary glare. Then she followed up the question. "The ex-boyfriend, who's he?"

"He's a student at Hanadera."

"Have you seen him?"

"Yes," She spat at the word, bitterly. "He once came to the school gate to pick her up. He made quite an arrogant and boor impression of himself. He's a boor who paraded my little sister right to my face—what lack of confidence, to use a woman to emphasize his masculinity. What insecurity." It was as rude as Sachiko could procure with her mouth.

"Do you know his name?" Rei was now impatient of the long wait. Her foot began to fidget, tapping erratically against the floor.

"Hanabi Ginousuke."

"When was last time of you've seen Kiiko-san?"

Her brows began to meet. "At school. I left early before her. She said that she had to do something before going home. If I didn't leave . . . ."

Rei decided to finish the interrogation. "Where were you last night between six to eight o'clock?"

"At home."

She stood up to leave the room, and she was expecting that Yahiko-san to follow her. She gathered the folders upon the table. "You may go now—"

"If I stayed with her . . . ."

The girl's head was hanging low, her back bent, her bangs were now covering her forehead and eyes. She was crying; she could see tears pouring and blotting her dark skirt.

Rei hesitated—but she walked slowly to the mourner, and she stretched her arms and let the girl cry to Rei's stomach.

She was once like Yahiko, was once saying what Yahiko had been afraid to say, cying for the same loss.

* * *

><p>Ten years ago, Rei found out about what happened to Yoshino through the phone. The only thing that she knew before turning off the phone and rushing to the hospital was that she was stabbed. She rushed to the hospital, thinking of nothing else but her dear cousin.<p>

How she able to got into the hospital, she did not know. Somehow, she was able to kept sufficient money to her pocket for her to get to the subway and select the fastest possible ride. Somehow, when she received the call, she had not removed her jacket. She would not even mind.

Other things did not matter, as long as she'd to see Yoshino, smiling back at her, telling her that she's an idiot, coming all the way from the far side of the city out of a small matter. She desperately opposed pessimism and negativity, which was successfully eating her slowly; the longer the time passed, the more her hope diminished.

She tried to call her father, to tell her everything he knew, yet he was not answering. She called her mother, yet she was not answering too. She called Yumi-chan, but she was just going to the hospital too. Then, her phone died down. In her frustration, she smashed it to the floor at the train station. They don't know what happened—Yoshino was all alone.

She should have not left her alone.

* * *

><p>When she went to the other room to meet Uesugi, she said to him, "You heard the name?"<p>

"Yeah. Ryusaki-san's on his way to Hanadera Academy. And Mori-san's digging everything, from bank acounts to anything he bought in the last few weeks. The guy's rich too. He'll give you a tons of info with that new computer of his. That guy's got weird attachment with his laptop—so freaking weird."

"Hmph."

The other detective continued. "Her bookbag was found in the clubroom, along with her phone. His name registered there too. She called him two weeks ago, and yesterday at 5 pm. I also talked to students who have been inside the campus even after 7pm. They said that they did not notice anything. It seemed that the girl's the last student in the campus. The guard who had been doing the rounds did not even notice it until 8pm. The latest time the girls left from the campus was 7:10."

Then she was killed between that time-frame. _The time narrowed down_, she mentally pictured her murder board. She still had to meet up with the parents. "Nearest kin; have you contacted them?"

"Yes. On the way to confirm the body. They were away from the city."

"Get them to my desk the moment they arrive."

"Yes." Uesugi hesitated—"That girl—she . . ."

"An aborted love story."

Mori interrupted them with a whistle. He was tapping a white folder above his head, and said, "The, ugh . . . _grande soeur's _alibi was true. That guy that she just mentioned . . . really obvious. I could already see that he's the killer. Hasekura-san, you won't even break a sweat."

"Why's that?"

Mori wedged between the two partners. "The guy just wasted his money buying gasoline, cleanex and trash bags, got his loaded his car in full tank—all with his credit card. Then got a large amount of money from his savings. I can't help but say that the guy's stupid."

"He'll bail out if he's got a good alibi." Uesugi lazily reasoned.

"Uhuh. All that spending after 8pm. He was not wasting time."

"Hand it over." Hasekura ordered. Mori obliged, and gave the folder to the detective. Ryusaki would soon bring the Hanadera student to the interrogation room. If Mori had been correct, which he always was, she would be grilling Hanabi Ginousuke later on.

Mori concluded. "I'm positive that we have the guy. Don't worry Hasekura, if you talked to him, surely he'll give away."

She wanted to end this investigation today. As much as possible, she wanted to go home, to be at peace, to sleep. She hoped that even with this early an investigation, and the little information they knew, that they'd find the killer. By the minute, her resolve was dissolving. She doesn't want to linger in a case like this anymore.

* * *

><p>They found him.<p>

Hasekura slowly rested her hands upon the table, rose up, and narrowed her face to the sitting Hanadera student to a mere foot. Uesugi, who joined her in the interrogation, could not even stop her from losing little of her composure. The boy was repeatedly smirking when his lawyer had been stopping their train of conversation every time she asked a question. They sent the best lawyer his family could provide, thinking that a smart-ass recitation of the boy's human rights could bail him out of the interrogation room. The lawyer made sense, yet she urged on.

She gritted her teeth. "Let me take out that smile off your face. Do you think that the police could not even get through your house? Your car? The murder's just fresh since last night. Have you ever heard of a search warrant? Guess what, richboy; we had permission from your uncle, and we just finished poking around your car and house. Apparently, the chief doesn't know that you're involved with the victim. He was even surprised when he saw the address upon the warrant when we handed it to his office. Right now, through that window," she motioned her head sideways, to point out the mirror that in front of Hanabi, "Big Brother's watching you."

On the other adjacent room, Mori and Ryusaki were nervously watching the whole scene with the head of the presinct. The old, sturdy man was silent; his hands at the back. Before his boy could get inside the interrogation room, Hasekura already explained the situation to her superior, without blinking en eye, without considering that he could interfere with the investigation by using his position and power. Yet, Hasekura urged on, explaining. He knew of her past, her reason for being joining the academy, the police. He could not fight with a woman whose determination of a hundred men.

Hanabi gulped. Finally, the provoking was finally sinking in him.

"I told you about your purchases with your credit card, your whereabouts until 6pm yesterday. Gasoline, cleanex, trash bags. Guess what?" Hasekura settled down to your seat. "We found your discarded uniform, your black leather gloves."

She bluffed. The M.E. had a good job identifying the even the tiniest object upon the body. Kyouko-san reported that she found traces and prints of leather upon the neck, and the lint upon the fingernails matched the any Hanadera high school uniform. The information would not narrow down to the guy himself. She also instructed uniforms to look for them, and she hoped that they'd return with good news on time.

But if Hanabi had been the killer . . .

"Everyone at Hanadera owns black leather gloves and the Hanadera uniform." He gnashed abruptly.

"Yeah, we know that." Hasukura feigned a bored expression and pretended as if she was removing dirt from her fingers. "You chose to hide your clothes instead of throwing them at different parts of Musashino, thinking that the police would not bother with junk. We thrived in rummaging junk. But why Musashino only, Hanabi-san? Your car's in full tank. You could just drive to different parts of the city and throw it there. Yet, your curfew is 8:30pm, and you went home just in time, or else your father will not be _very_ happy. You did not plan to kill her, so when you realized that your uniform's just covered with her blood, you could not just throw them away. Your name's in the uniform so you have to burn it. The "third-year" collar pin could not be burnt that easily, so you kept it.

"You're not used to buying in a local grocery store, for everything's being handed to you on a daily basis. You don't know where you could get cleaning materials inside your big house, so you took your chances and bought in a grocery store that's too foreign for you. For the first time, you only have yourself to depend on.

"You know that you cannot just go outside the house, given your father's reasons about your latest _activities_, so you could not just burn something at your own backyard. So the gasoline did yet not serve its purpose. But not the trash bag. So you put them there, and save the burning for later."

"But how did you manage to buy those in a grocery store? You wiped blood from your hands with the dirtied uniform. You have your extra shirt and shorts in your car, so you changed your clothes inside. Take the liquid car freshener, and apply them to your hands while you let water wash the remaining blood in your hands. It's better to smell like car perfume than fresh blood. We saw them in your laundry. Yet your car had traces of blood. So you went out with fresh clothes to the grocery store. The cleanex now served its purpose. After you went home, you cleaned, for the first time, the seats, and the floor carpet. You told yourself, you did a good job, that's why your hands were a little bruised and tender, not only from killing her, but also for cleaning. You did not know that chlorine and hard soap would do much to the delicate skin. But you did not notice to clean backview mirror that you unconsciously adjusted, as you hurriedly drove off from Lillian, in pure shock. As I said, we poked into every thing you have."

The man tried to look at her in the eyes, to appear unaffected, yet Hasekura knew that she was getting her assumed story right, from the reaction the Hanadera student have been trying to suppress while she story-tell.

Hasekura continued, when the boy could not retaliate anymore. Even the lawyer had doubted his presence inside the room. "It was out of obsession, if not, out of the fear of getting dumped." Hasekura was a little quiet as she told the presumed motive.

"Two weeks ago, when she tried to break up with you, you knew her reasons, even before she even told you. You knew that she was in love with her grande soeur, and your pride as a man was hurt, because she settled not for another man, but for another of her same sex. You threatened her before, that if she broke up with him, he would reveal her secret to her family. You even threatened to hurt her, as she told her grande souer. Yet, in fear, she stayed with you."

"She's lying! She said that because she did not approve of our relationship."

Hasekura interrupted. "She said that herself; she doesn't like you at all. You were the boyfriend." When the boy went silent again, she carried on slowly, letting the tension to saturate in the room. "Yet yesterday, she said to you that her onee-sama accepted her feelings, and she doesn't care anymore of what her family would think about her. She tried to break it up with you through her phone. You insisted to talk to her personally yesterday. She told you of the time and place. At Lillian, a place she thought was her safe ground.

"You took with you a knife, thinking that you could threaten her with that. Yet when you met, she must have said harsh words, words that you could not swallow. She might have said that you could not stand that she left you for a woman. That you use women to _man_ yourself up. You were furious at her, she being a lesbian slut. Then you showed her the knife. She fled; you hurriedly followed, tucking the knife to your pants pocket. She shouted, even when everyone that evening left, so she tried to go to the guard post. You became too agigated. Yet she wasn't heard."

The boy was now having cold sweat upon his forhead, neck, and back.

Hasekura breathed. "You caught up, and pushed her to the bushes. You tried to shut her up. You tried to block her mouth, but she still struggled. You tried to throttle her, yet she still struggled. With force, you repeatedly banged her head to the ground. But she was determined to get away from you. You could not control her, even if she's weak. You still have the knife. You cannot have her—it's better if she's dead. Then you stabbed her."

Everything was heard by the other detectives at the other room. The old man tried to stand up, and he struggled. Ryusaki just supported his back. Inside the interrogation room, sounds of the ventilation was heard. Hasekura quieted down. Her throat was dry—her salivary glands exhausted from stress. Uesugi could only watch. The lawyer seemed not to remember his purpose inside, hearing such a convincing story.

Someone knocked at the door. Her head snapped to its direction. A uniformed officer appeared before the door, and nodded. She knew its meaning, and gathered the evidences the M.E. gave her to her side of the table. She closed the folder that Mori gave to her a while ago.

"Hanabi-san, where were you last night between seven and eight in the evening?"

There was no answer.

"Chief," Hasekura only just said. The door opened revealing the old man at the other side of the room, with a uniformed officer behind him. "Hasekura-kun, I'll take it from here." Her superior painfully said.

When she and Uesugi were about to close the door, they heard the old man recited sternly, "Hanabi Genousuke, you are under arrest for the murder . . . ."

* * *

><p>Ten years ago, Rei just knew the story from the police officer. She could not talk to the girl that witnessed Yoshino being slaughtered; she was still traumatized from what happened.<p>

Ten years ago, Yoshino tried to help a Lillian student from being harrassed by two men, at the back gate of Lillian academy. With her bag, and from what she learned from kendo discipline, she tried to defend the girl. She bravely struggled to severe them, yet they were too strong. Both tried to escape, yet, one of them grabbed Yoshino, who was slower to fled, and stabbed her at the chest with a knife. They fled, when the other man noticed blood upon his partner's shirt.

The other girl called for emergency. But Yoshino lost a lot of blood.

She secretly tried to look at her cousin's body, and saw the bandages upon her chest blotted with crimson.

Later, the two men were caught, but Rei could not even get her hands to the person that stabbed her beloved. Her hands bled from the pressure of her fingernails; her eyes were red because of fatigue and sleeplessness and could not produce tears anymore.

Everyone said that it was not her fault—those criminals should be punished. She wanted to avenge her, to feel their blood on her hands. Yet, she could only watch, as they were trialed and disposed to prison.

* * *

><p>It was already late Rei stopped her car in front of a house in a suburbian area. Rei knocked at the door. She was tired. A man's voice said that there was someone at the door, and she heard footsteps.<p>

She took a risk at the presinct—she tried to provoke Hanabi into admitting the crime with just few evidences. She told the story as she clearly picture in her head, letting herself succumbed into her story, and making it believable, reasonable, and sensible. If Hanabi weren't the killer, he could just deny it with his alibi. But when she questioned him, he could even lie.

Her assumptions were true. Before the interrogation, she instructed the Mori and Uesugi to get to the boy's mansion, check his car and room for the purchased items, his laundry. She told them to check the number of uniforms and gloves the boy had. And confirm their number to the staff of the house. She told them to get the car dusted, particularly the trunks, chairs, carpets, and mirrors.

What they found were traces of blood at the mirror. Kyouko-san confirmed: it was the victim's blood.

One black trash bag was also missing from the roll that he purchased. The newly bought cleanex was consumed half. The car reeked with the smell of chlorine.

The case was solved. She needed to rest. Non-negotiable. She had no appetite, even if she just had two strong coffees for the rest of the day.

It was like before; the men responsible for Yoshino's demise were caught within hours' time, just like what happened to Kiiko-san. When she left with Uesugi from the interrogation room, her first stop was the restroom. Uesugi even followed her inside, but never to console her, but to just watch her from afar and prevent her from doing something suicidal. Kiiko-san's killer admitted to the crime to his uncle and asked for help, but the latter refused, according to Mori, who had been watching the whole exchange from the other adjacent ro om. She was scolded for interrogating the boy without confirmation that the evidences gathered were truly pointing the suspect, and being so rash inside the interrogation. But with the confession from the boy himself, she was tolerated this time. She promised again, that this would be the last time she would be impulsive.

Rei waited for the door to be opened. She heard incoming footsteps. The doorknob clicked.

"Rei-chan! Finally, you're here. Shoutaro's just preparing dinner." A woman softly said, raising her eyebrows as she scanned Rei like laser. She was wearing a black turtleneck sweater and blue jeans. "Let me guess, another solved case?" She ushered Rei inside. "With all your cases, I don't need any more crime novels to be entertained. Tell me the story." While heading to the living area, the woman babbled on; her long straight, ebony hair flowed as she walked.

Rei sat on the couch. "I don't think you'll like it."

"Try me." Yoshino challenged.

She survived. The person who she loved more than a sister battled death miraculously. In the three months that she was in the hospital, Rei watched her dear cousin closely, monitoring the wound that had not fully healed until three months later. Ten years ago, for four months of healing and therapy, she watched, as Yoshino gradually gaining a healthy color. Later, she became a slave of Yoshino's every whim. At first, she could not leave her alone and did not dare, but Yoshino's rebukes were more powerful than Rei's resolve. When she said that Rei should relearn to be without her, it took her until now to get used to it.

"Come on. It could not be too traumatic for me." The host urged on.

Yoshino was much stronger than Rei was. She moved on quickly after her accident, unlike her older cousin, who still wallowed in the past. She recovered, telling Rei that she's fine already. She was scared to die early, that she might not recover from the shock, but she repeately told Rei that she'll move on, as soon as she recovered. She did accomplish all. Only Rei was left behind with the past.

Rei put her hands on Yoshino's head. She just said, "I'm starving, Yoshino." and smiled.

"Oi, Shou! Where's dinner?" She shouted across the room.

A man's voice resonated from the kitchen. "Coming, commander."

Yoshino grinned.

She could not forget yet, or even let it go, but later in an unknown future, she hoped she could. Like Yoshino had done so many years ago. With that, she was sure secure peace with herself.

* * *

><p><em>END<em>

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><p><strong>AN**: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. If there are inconsistencies in the crime story, even to the smallest detail, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE tell me right away, through PM or a review. This is a crime/detective oneshot, so I don't know if I had rightly put all the pieces together. I intended to put a vague description upon Yoshino's case just to let you assume that she had died. I don't know if I nailed it right. **I am begging for a review on this one! T_T**

This is not related at all to my other fanfic, _Behind Closed Doors._ As Shoutarou and Kyouko of this oneshot did not come from _Skip Beat!_


	6. Fukuzawa

**HOW THEY WISH IT WAS RAINING**

_-TheSilentReader-_

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><p>CHAPTER 6: Fukuzawa Family<p>

* * *

><p><strong>How to convince Otou-san to let them drink <strong>_**sake**_

Miki stood up from her seat and took all the dirty dishes on the table. It was an unusual Saturday evening, when both her children had visited the house for the weekend. She went to the sink and gently dumped them, and she started the faucet and washed them. At the dining table were her husband and her two kids, Yumi and Yuuki, laughing at a story that Yuuki was telling them. This used to be so normal years ago, back when her children were still in highschool, all problematic with their respective personal lives and could not able to share them in front of the dining table. But now, seeing them goofing at their heart's content about their lives in their universities made her heart skipped a beat. This was not just an everyday experience—sooner or later, their visits would be less frequent. Maybe, sooner or later, they would just visit to collect things, as they proceed with their own lives as adults. She thought that time passed by so slowly, but seeing them now—their features not anymore identical, they were already having their own opinions, own ideals, own principles. She felt herself drifting further and further away from them. She knew that she was being so sentimental, so emotional that she decided not to ever show or tell this kind of feeling to anyone—not even Yuiichirou.

(He'd be teasing her too hard, to the point of tears.)

She continued cleaning the dishes, faster and more methodical than ever before, hoping that she could catch up with her three monsters at the table. The sink was a little farther from the dining area, thus she could not make out whatever they were talking about. The sound of the pressure coming from the faucet blocked her ability to discern their conversations. She decided to rush everything.

Then, she heard her husband shouted. "_Sake_? Are you even at the legal age to drink?" He asked both of them, growling more thunderously than his usual voice, as if scolding them for playing at his workroom.

"Eh, Otou-san, I'm twenty. You should scold Yuuki for demanding it." Yumi complained, not because she was not allowed to have liquor, but because of Yuiichirou forgot her age.

"Otou-san, even though I'm ten months younger than her, surely you'd let me join, right?" Yuuki teased his father.

Then, Miki heard a chant that suddenly becoming louder and louder. "Sake, sake, SAKE!"

"No!"

Miki chuckled. They might not admit it, but being in the university would teach students too many things, from their professors to their labmates—she knew that occasionally, some person would invite them in a little party and would try to drink. Although, she'd argue to herself that maybe, Yuuki might have tried it before he graduated from Hanadera—considering what she learned from her husband the tradition there . . . but she digressed. Yuuki is a very sensible and principled man. Yumi, too.

The father asked timidly. "Tell me, Yumi, Yuuki. Did you ever drink liquor?"

"Honest?" Both chanted.

"Of course. You'd dare lie to me?" Miki noticed that he was trying not budge and laugh.

"Well . . ." Both were again in sync in answering their father.

"Well?"

Yumi looked at Yuuki. The latter decided to be the spokesperson. "We tried it before."

"When?"

"Before . . . graduation?"

Yuichiirou seemed to be accepting the confession quite nicely. "Graduation . . . WHAT?"

Then, both his children panicked—their arms flailing to negate any negative assumption that their father had been brewing inside his imaginative mind—that once more, they began to explain the situation at the same time, with the same words, "NO! Otou-san! We were both there! It was some sort of a prank back at student council party! Most of the members were graduating . . ."

"And?"

". . . and somehow _sake _was slipped into the drinks by some alumni." Both grunted, seemingly imagining their own particular sempai that slipped liquor into their drinks. Miki thought of the known sempai's of Yumi and Yuuki, which were Sachiko and Suguru. But, it did not add up. Those impeccable and neat persons surely won't do something so bizzare as that.

But, in a group of friends, there is always someone who was more cracked than the rest of them. Although, Miki wondered who'd that be.

Yumi explained further. "It was a party of the Hanadera council and the Yamayurikai. You see, we were at the Rose Mansion back then. Surely, no one would ever dare slip some liquor . . ."

"Except for a certain alumni."

Both repeated. "Except for that certain alumni."

Then, Yumi added, "That was the only time for me. So, then . . ." and Yuuki joined on cue, "Sake, sake, SAKE!"

"NO!" Growled their father.

Miki chuckled again as she rinsed the dishes. He was enjoying this much. Their children were never so open to trivial things such as this before; usually the subject of their conversations were about their sempai's and their council work (back in highschool), and their professors they now considered devils of the highest degree (now in college), which surprised Miki a bit back then. Yumi would never speak in such audacity, until that time. Calling a respected professor a demon?

Well, people, and Yumi is not an exception, change.

"But, Otou-san!" Yuuki howled.

Then, a very solemn voice began to emanate into Miki's ears. "You see, Otou-sama,"

(Otou-_sama_? What is with the ascent of honorific?)

"If ever I'd be given a chance to change the past, I would." Yumi said in a very soft, modulated, yet determined voice. "What I wish, before everything happened, that my first sip of liquor would be infront of you, and you Yuuki. You're the only people that I trust with these kinds of things. It would be a dangerous _christening_ for me, I must say, but you're the only person I trust to teach me to drink until I can finally able to hold it and control it myself."

Then a brief silence ensued the table. Yumi continued, in a much softer tone, "But even after all those unfortunate events, you won't trust the words of your only daughter, Otou-sama?"

There was a sound of shuffling at the table.

That was horrifying. That was the first time Miki heard such a lovely, no, too ladylike tone from her daughter, who used to have a much higher pitch in her voice. She picked up words that would certainly swayed Yuichiirou to the core. Using the word "trust" and Yumi (of all creatures of the Earth) demanding that . . . her children was really desperate to take away few years off their father's life.

Just to tease him.

"'Christening'? Really, Yumi? That's a heavy word, you know. You scared the hell out of me." Yuuki commented.

Miki could not detect any movement from her husband. She then shut off the faucet. (She was already finished cleaning—much to her surprise.)

Still, Yumi's act was still not finished. "What do you mean, Yuuki? What I said is true. From the depths of my heart."

"Re—really?" Even Yuuki was experiencing the same torment as his father.

Miki then hurried away from the kitchen to look at the entertainment brought by her daughter, Yumi, at the dining table. When she began to take a peek, she found her daughter sitting in her chair, the dainty fingers of her right hand covering her lips, the other hand rested on her lap. She sat straight; her arms slouched a little, indicating a defeated pose; her blushing face avoiding the perplexed looks of the Fukuzawa men.

It was as if another woman—a very playful woman acting all delicate and crap (she had to term it like this)—had invaded her daughter. This needed some sort of exorcism. Or that, someone might have taught this trick to her. Whoever that was, she's making a beautiful actress out of her Yumi.

"I'm already twenty, Otou-sama. It will be just one sip. Surely, mother . . ." the kid just looked at her signalling her presence in the area, ". . . has approved of it. Right, Okaa-sama?" Yumi asked sweetly.

Miki felt goosebumps.

"NO!" The head of the family objected. Thus, it was back again from the start.

Yumi resumed to her "normal" self as she slouched even more, and threw away the impeccable Ojou-sama act out of the window, and propped her chin on her hand. "Jeez. Just one sip."

Yuuki whispered to his sister, "That was good, Yumi. You almost got me there." albeit it could be heard by the rest of the family members.

Then, Yumi replied, "I mean, really. What's wrong with my act?"

"When you mention 'Okaa-sama', that gave you away."

Yumi seemed to take this as serious business. "Oh, that."

(Why is that?) She wondered. What could possibly the reason why the mere mention of her would break the act?

Now it was Yuuki's turn to convince his father.

"But, Otou-sama, why not?"

"Because, number one: you're not yet on the right age to drink; two: it would be too irresponsible for me to allow you to drink, especially, in front of me; and three: Yumi will follow." He explained.

Miki smirked; she just noticed a line of sweat travelling from his crown to his forehead.

"But it will just be one sip. Surely, that won't do anything to my system yet. On top of that, you told me, Otou-sama, that we Fukuzawa have the toughest liver in town. Surely, you're not lying when you told us your stories about your adventures in your college days." Yuuki explained.

Oh, that a Waterloo.

He began to blush with the memory of his glory days. "Well, yes, _we_ do have high tolerance for alcohol," then his eyes began to glow red, and growled again. "But I would not take chances on my children!"

Yuuki stood up from his seat, and recited his speech as if he were a politician. "Then clearly, why don't we challenge ourselves now! In this place, where the Fukuzawa, the legendary man having the highest tolerance for alcohol, is residing! And let me remind you, Otou-sama, that you discovered such a wonderful talent at a tender age of nineteen! Three large bottles of _sake_ consumed and still sober! On your first try! The same age as mine! Just before you hit college! And I was already attending my classes for almost five months. Sure you know, that is so _unfare_."

He weakly defended. "I was foolish back then."

"But still, you bragged about that foolish moment of yours. To us . . . your children, heirs who'd possibly inherit such unique trait of yours!" Yuuki smile was enigmatic, that Yumi began to clap her hands in admiration. He was really into this speech . . . declamation thing.

"Well then, what say you, my dear Otou-sama?"

"NO!"

Miki dumped two small glasses at the center of the table, and filled it with rice wine that was withdrawn from the bottom shelf of the refrigirator. She set a glass each in front of her two children. Yuuki and Yumi looked at her with their eyes wide, dumbfounded of their mother's actions. Meanwhile, her husband could not even object his wife's decision. Especially when she put another in front of him and asked, "Do you want a glass?"

Everyone was quiet as she did these.

The oldest Fukuzawa replied meekly. "Yes, please."

"One glass. No negotiations, please. Or I'll hit you with this bottle on your head. Hard. And feel headache no medicine could solve. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Miki chuckled after she left for the kitchen. She could get used to this.

* * *

><p><em>THE END<em>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **This reminded me of my and my siblings' after-dinner talks. Without the liquor, of course. Just talking, laughing, having high-fives for every funny story, that sort of stuff. I hope you enjoyed this one. Please leave a comment or just a simple hello would do!

Un-betta-ed. All mistakes are mine. Correct them, if you will. Please!


	7. Shimako and Sei

**A/N:** I won't be spoiling you, just savor whatever you're reading. This is also not related to the other chapters; this belonged to another plane of existence. This is Shimako/Sei shipping, and I won't elaborate on that even more. I just hope that you'll appreciate this one. Think of this as a _dream sequence_.

Fine. This one is rated MATURE, but not necessarily explicit. Contains sexual harassment.

* * *

><p><strong>HOW THEY WISH IT WAS RAINING<strong>

_-TheSilentReader-_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER 7: Shimako and Sei<p>

* * *

><p>If there was one thing that I hated to endure, it was to see you leave me with slightly indifferent eyes, trying to act so mature, so ready to leave this world that you and I considered an empty birdcage. A shell; an enclosed space. Graduation was near. You going away was near; even though you would be just a gate away. If slight annoyance was beginning to bud and grow inside me because you've been far away lately, I have done my best to hide that once-foreign emotion.<p>

I played with my mechanical pencil, burying its tip a little against the wooden plane of my table. Somehow, I found a shallow little hole and buried the tip. I put my pointing finger on the other tip, swirling it counterclockwise, then clockwise. I felt so strained, putting all my aggression from my finger to my pencil. Small hands could not fit it.

You were very far away lately. We agreed on that a long time ago—to be as far away from each other—but it seemed to me that you were beginning drift further and further, away from my reach. It was more than the boundaries of physical space; it was as if I no longer feel your life force. It was as if you were dying. We never agreed to be like that. We valued our agreement, never to be too close for comfort, but it seemed to me that I preferred seeing your weakness. You used that agreement of ours—never said but felt—to shield ourselves. You being a supernova of repressed emotions, me a black hole being devoid of it. A black hole, frantic to suck your power dry. That is what I feel right now. It was eating me away—this newly discovered profound desire, which I felt when you were reminded of your lost love.

You know that.

That's why you were drifting away from me.

It was very hurtful.

I put my mechanical pencil back to its case.

When you asked my classmates, Yumi and Yoshino, to stay for a quick chat, you decided for yourself that I must not be told of this painful slice of your history that you still were not disclosing to me. Oh, I know it. You and a former student—Shiori-san—the person who showed you heaven and promised it to you, yet may I ask, my dear Sei, why are you still here? On earth, I mean? Why are you not with her?

Because you have been left here, in the garden, for me.

I never felt greed. As much as I wanted to be the most convenient little sister for you, deep inside, I wanted you to look at me the way you did on the moment we met. You were flummoxed at the sight of a disturbingly familiar, identifiable entity. A fragment of heaven. But when we became sisters, you resolved to tone it down, to compress your thoughts of me and identified it as dangerous, lethal to your reason. Was I really that poisonous? Thinking of that, I began to lose confidence that I will be completely accepted. You took me in because I remind you of the past, of that Shiori-san, of your capability to love to the point worse than death.

I really resent you for that.

It made me feel that I was used to tame you, somehow. Like eye-blinds against the racehorse's vision.

Days were ticking by until your graduation and, still, you were not approaching me. Now why is that? Did you learn your lesson, in the months that you were with me? Because I was not satisfied by the duration of our sisterhood. I know, I could feel you everywhere, as if you were right beside me even if you were not, but once you were out of the high school division, free to wish, waste, dream, surrender, attack . . . you'd later forget me. You would forget that there was someone that was putting you down, stealing away your freedom to love because I was a reminder of her—that girl Shiori.

I hate that I was just a reminder of someone you considered an angel. An ephemeral one.

A while ago, I was asked by Yumi if you gave me some sort of a goodbye, inspirational, warning message—a normal parting gift of a sempai to her beloved kouhai. You gave me none. Of course, you would say that I don't need one; I could take care of myself, as I have been doing for the past sixteen years of my life.

You were running away from me. That was what I thought.

Somehow, in these past few months that we were souers, I was denying that I did not want see you smiling, grinning to every prank that you pull on everyone. Those happy, although temporary, moments made me grieve for my soul. I'd rather see you bleed in your weakness. It made me powerful, as I remind you with just my presence. I would just look into your eyes, and there, your mask would break, revealing a scarred rose, pricked by her own thorns—your innate capability to love beyond human understanding. I am marveling in that talent of yours. It comes to you so naturally. I deeply desired that kind of affection, to the point that love like yours would hail me as a goddess, to be showered with praise and adoration.

Yet, you gave me little of that—your love. You were restraining yourself, remember?

Never get too close; take a step back if you need to. I may not know the exact words but _does that ring a bell_?

You were the same as me. I tried to let you know that I don't want to let you go, but you dismissed it with your reassuring gray eyes and shove my hands with yours in your jacket pocket. You remember, that Valentine's Day? I was on the verge of spilling out my resentments against you, but you stopped me just the same. You might think that soon, those feelings that I wanted to tell would diminish, sink into the soil. No, they were still there, piling up, being filled by your endless successful attempts to stop me. And they were on the verge of spilling—like broken dams, like pressured, molten rock-filled volcano, ready to erupt.

And destroy.

You were not allowing me to feel anything. Just like how you would not allow yourself to love completely.

Maybe, I am jealous of you. To feel all kinds of emotions in their endless shapes and sizes. I have not loved deeply as you loved before. I was unable to curse Maria-sama from taking your beloved like you did. You were restless all the time because you cannot contain your feelings—you just have to release them out. For me, I was as calm as the sea because I contained nothing of what you have. I was a large well with a single drop of water, only to evaporate until I was entirely dry.

You were too bright. The shining thing.

But now, I felt like exploding, like atomic bombs on famous movies.

You see, there you are with Yumi inside your classroom, unable to decide whether to tease her or to lecture her of your last words, as a caring sempai would. That little intimacy you have with her—I never envy it, but I am overtly jealous that you could do it. I am jealous because I could not have such liberties when I am with you. Or with anyone. But especially with you. You are the clingy type . . . it was so obvious, and deep inside I want to be like you. Clingy. I could bet that you were with your previous lover. More overtly so.

Then I saw Yumi kissed you.

You asked for it, yet why do I see you astonished when Yumi granted it?

You were surprised, but you tried to keep your eyes from watering. To see that Yumi really have loved you, thus did not hesitate to share her lips to you and pucker it to whatever part of your lovely face where it landed. She was brave. I admire that in Yumi. I could never try that with you.

Could I?

Jealousy, it was clouding my mind, my heart, my vision.

I quickly hid to the other room, the moment you stopped Yumi from escaping from the room because of kissing you. My heart pounded as I tried not to let my footsteps tap against the wood. I know how you were sensitive with peeping toms, with eavesdroppers. I just used it to my advantage. Still, even I was in the adjacent room, I tried not to let myself reveal before Yumi, who was walking on the corridor, dazed in whatever you did or said last. I ducked a little, hiding myself from the door, and peeping by the glass, I found Yumi teary.

What did you tell her that you won't even say to me?

Because you always assume that I don't need attention as much as Yumi does.

It's graduation. I am like other girls too. I want to feel the attention sometimes.

When Yumi was already gone from the hall, I stepped out of the doorway, determination not faltering. Not even this moment. Tomorrow is graduation, damn it, I could not let my chance pass.

Volcano. Dam. Sea. Black hole.

I felt weak, yet I found myself walking to your classroom, sliding the door even without your permission. I did not even acknowledge your casual greeting for me. I just shut the door with a snap and you were now looking at me with disbelief. That I could actually be gruff when I wanted to be. I was never snippy, but when I am . . . I don't know; I just feel like it.

Jealousy. Explosion. Destruction. Resentment. Hurt.

You were sitting on your designated table in the classroom, watching me. You were a little amused with the spectacle. I haphazardly opened a sliding window, just adjacent to the first row seats. I opened it and the wind of spring just blew through the curtains and my chestnut hair.

"Why weren't you giving me parting words?" I asked you.

You answered confidently. "I told you, you can be on your own, right?"

The sun was setting, my dam breaking.

"I love you, Onee-sama." I declared.

"Well, I love you, too, Shimako." You said with a grin. I did not buy that you get my message.

I opened the second window. "No, you don't understand." I breathed. I walked towards you and gently put my left hand on your cheeks and caressed it. "I love you, Sei."

"Shimako, no—" You backed away by jolting your face away from me. But it was easy to see the hesitation in your eyes. You know what I was feeling; you've been there before. Haven't you?

"I want you to tell you before, but you never let me."

You held on my left wrist. You were trying to laugh it off, to dismiss my confession. I never felt so angry. You were treating this like a game. "Shimako, is this because I'm graduating? I'll be just a fence away. Shimako, don't be sad . . ."

I slapped you with my good right hand. It was a momentous event in my life that finally my anger was interpreted with the force in my hand. This is all your fault, you knew everything, ever since, but you just dismiss it. You thought that I don't feel you ignoring me, but I know it by your actions. You're always transparent to me. I know that you too, desire me.

You were shocked, but you felt the intensity of my desire to heal your reddened, abused cheek with my hand, or if possible, my lips. But you saw no yearning look at my eyes; you saw them filled with desperation to hurt you with my feelings. You saw my wicked smile, and I was as shocked as you were since this was the first time that I let my twisted love be expressed with (what you said) my angelic lips. I was like an angel was being possessed by a demon. Inside, I was fascinated by the discovery of me mixing the archetypal version of evil against its good counterpart. And it turned out that they were no oil and water.

I took the opportunity of you agape at the sight of a possessed me as I smirk at you and cusp your head with both my hands and held you in place. I kissed your soft lips.

I held you firmly in place and wedged myself between your unsuspecting thighs. How could you get out from my solid hold and the table where you sat? You were trying not to move against my kiss, as I brusquely brush the tip of my tongue on your lower lip. Your hands somehow appeared between us and shoved me away from you. You stared at me incredulously, as I staggered two steps away from you. I looked down on you, feeling like a predatory panther in front of fresh meat. Yes, you are Sei.

You looked like fresh meat to me. I don't know why, but that was how I see you when I looked at your face—still shocked at my devices.

"You would not hear me before. I love you, deeply. Not as my onee-sama."

You were seeing me shaking—my hands were trembling, because I slapped you. But I did it already—blood reached to my fingers, reddened. You see, when I slapped you, I felt pain too. I felt how the skin of your cheeks made a piercing sound against my hand. Your cheeks had much skin as my hands to feel pain. I felt so torn. I love you deeply, passionately. I've always hidden this with all strength.

So this is how I release my frustration? My twisted love for you? I punish your insensitivity by laying a heavy hand on your sweet face?

"I love you."

"Shimako, please."

"Please what, Sei?"

I drew near again. I put my tainted free hand back to your red cheek, then took the liberty to caress it. It was soft and tender. You did not flinch, or you fought yourself not to. You fought the urge not to look away from me as I scrutinize the gentle slope of your left face. "Please what, Sei?" I repeated.

"Please don't kiss me again."

I stopped my hand. Unable to accept your blatant rejection, I struggled to regain my ground, took a step closer to you and block your path with my body and your table. You see, you were still sitting on it. I inhaled and asked you, "What is in me that you do not like?"

You look at me with guilty eyes; I could not decipher of what you think of me, until you said, "Stay as you are."

For the first time, I did not understand what you mean. I repeated that notion, but still, you moved your head sideways, left and right, further negating yourself. What were you thinking? "I don't want to soil you."

I was enraged by your statement. "That's for me to decide, not you."

"Shimako, I know you would not want this."

"You will not tell me what I want. I want you." I firmly and slowly proclaimed, and chuckled as I lose my patience with you. I spoke, "Do you think my love for you soils me? I don't think so. I was the one who is dirty. I was the one confessing, wasn't I? I was the one soiling you. No, no . . . this love is pure, innocent, not immoral as others forced it to be. You think that this is wrong because I was the one hurting you. But that was because you wouldn't hear my true feelings before. Yet now, it seems that my mouth would not stop saying what I feel."

I felt like I was contradicting myself.

I put both my hands onto your unyielding shoulders. I leaned closer to you; my eyes half closed as I watched you looked at me with straight eyes. You were trying to just let it pass, braving out my assault with passiveness. Will you receive me with unmoving lips? Will you not close your eyes? Will you not savor my lips that I offer to you? Because if you say so, I will be yours—I will do your bidding—anything, really.

Because I am tired of watching you from far away; I am tired of keeping it to myself. I was not wearing anymore your rosary upon my wrist as you once recommended; I am wearing it now around my neck. The cross was near my heart, just like how it should be. A symbol of my secret.

But I want to tell you that soon, I will get rid of it, just like how you said. Spring would come and go, just like students of Lillian. Soon, you will leave, and I will find a petit soeur, which will fill for your absence. And soon, that person will inherit my rosary. How lovely you told me that. How blunt.

That's why I want to be as blunt as you were, when I told my feelings.

The touch of your lips was very pleasing; the pair was soft because you were not opposing . . . you just kept your mouth fairly shut. I tested the tip of my tongue to your lower lip; your lips part.

I was jubilant at that minute movement.

One hand resting on your shoulder went to the back of your head to fasten our kiss permanently. I kept on nibbling you, when I felt that you were fighting the urge to respond. How long has it been since you've tasted willing lips to ravish yours? How long has it been when you weren't the one prowling over a helpless prey? How long has it been since you were the captive? The submissive one?

Since Shiori?

I want to erase her memory in your life—she was the one who let you perceive that this kind of love is wrong and painful. She was the one who soiled this kind of love. Not you.

So I force this on you, not to wait any longer, not to put up with naïve pleasantries or subtle techniques to make you notice me in a different way—I shoved it right to your face. It's how you did it before to her, therefore, that's how you'll receive it from me.

You opened your mouth.

Were you yielding?

Courageously, I pulled you from the table, forced my strength to your shoulders again, only to shove you to the hard, wooden floor, braced both my hands to yours, and pinned them above your head. My one leg wedged between your thighs. You never thought that I had more muscle than I appeared to be—because below my dark gaze, you found yourself utterly helpless. You tried to push your arms from the floor, but they would not budge. You tried to thrash your legs, but my own leg was already deep between yours that you had no avenue to release them. I kissed you again, and oh, you tried to repel the urge to reply. You see, that's why I love you seeing in your weakest.

Were you surrendering?

Your neck . . . I bit at the taught muscle of your neck, grazed my teeth, sliding my wet tongue along its length. You were caught between the decision of turning away and meeting my gaze—if you turn away, that would just give more access to explore; if otherwise, that means you yield. You chose the first one. You closed your eyes.

No, the lower planes and curves were just as better. You thought that I stopped. But you realized that I was untying your neckerchief with my teeth, and nipping on your collarbone.

Why would you not yield?

Soon, your skirt was pooled around your waist; the long zipper at the back of your uniform was long unfastened.

Why would you not yield? If you do, I'll be much more gentle!

I looked at your eyes again, hoping dreadfully, that you'll do. Yield, please. I want to be gentle. You were forcing me not to. Please, yield.

Look into my eyes. Look at me, look.

Please accept me. Please.

I was surprised that tears were falling out of my eyes. What was happening to me? Wasn't I the dominant one? You were at my mercy. You could not even fight back as I unzipped your back.

I kissed you tentatively, just to convey those feelings. I loosened the grip of my fingers on your hands. I raised my body to unlock yours from my capture. In all-fours, I just kissed you, tentatively. I already forced myself to you, I was not wholly satisfied, but I was already full with my conquest. Even though I was so sure that I was not finished with you yet.

This was your chance to retaliate, to shove me away. That was your goal, was it not? You were struggling, that's why.

Yet, your hands, bruised because of my tight grip, brushed to my cheek. You sighed when I removed my unmoving lips from yours.

Finally, you yield.

* * *

><p><em>END<em>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **What do you think? I know, I know, I just tinkered a very virtuous character, or did I? Did I do it right? Or Is it lame? I know that Shimako had her little issues too; I just want to superimpose them. OOC. Sorry for not warning you about that, I just need you to think about its possibility. While doing this I tried to imagine Shimako's seiyuu saying all this stuff, and it turned out that I could.

This has been on my mind (and PC) for a long time, even before I was caught up with plotting for _The Passing Wind_. You might think that this was because of _that_—that I was extending darkness to other characters, one by one . . . but no, that was not entirely the case. I have thought of it since _Behind Closed Doors_, debating to myself if I could pull off little OOC with Shimako, but I digressed, convincing myself that BCD!Yuuki is not worthy for a little-dark Shimako.

Although, I would not think this as mature, or deep. That's also why I was reluctant to publish this. But I did anyway. I don't want this to rot in my laptop, neither be forgotten.

Please review! If you like it, review; if you hate it, review still.


	8. Yumi and Sachiko

**A/N: **Hello again. Yeah, finally a Sachiko/Yumi one-shot! It's easy where I got this sappy, warm little thing from: Episode 1 of the OVA. Yeah, that little bed scene full of undeniable subtext, more subtext, and unresolved sexual tension. So here it is. This is un-beta-ed, thus everything wrong you see there is my fault.

* * *

><p><strong>HOW THEY WISH IT WAS RAINING<strong>

_-TheSilentReader-_

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><p>CHAPTER 8: Yumi and Sachiko<p>

* * *

><p>Sachiko, on waking up early in the morning<p>

If there was a something that she could not change over the course of her lifetime, it was her inability to wake up early without groggily wishing that she'd have more time for sleep. Or that she doesn't suffer anemia. It was not a sickness of the rich—no, not at all. For one thing, Touko admitted once during their little chat that she is rather a morning person, and she likes waking up so early, if not, on a precise time in the morning. Small things like waking up by the second ring of the alarm were enough to make her morning pleasant was Touko defining herself in simple things. Simple, indeed, it was for her. But for Sachiko, it is a great deal—no, a tremendous achievement for her to wake up earlier than the first ten rings of her alarm.

Yumi, on the other hand, is a very light sleeper. She insisted that the alarm clock should be on Sachiko's side of the bed, which the latter distastefully disagreed. In the first nights that they were finally together sharing a bed, Sachiko would put the alarm on the drawers on Yumi's side, but in the morning, she would find out that it was already in her side table. It was a way of Yumi's silent teasing, a little bit devious, but Sachiko would not really complain wholeheartedly. After all, Yumi just does what she thought is right. And necessary. Just like how Sachiko taught her during their soeur days.

But doing that every night? That is just blatantly annoying.

Therefore, she proposed to Yumi, who happened to be preparing herself to sleep, that _she_ should be Sachiko's alarm clock. She proposed it the way Yumi would understand—in the form of a simile. Yumi looked at her, produced an "Ah," with her small mouth, unburied herself from the soft mattress, reached on Sachiko's side of the bed, grabbed the godforsaken alarm clock, and put in on her side drawers. Then she set it. Then she kissed Sachiko on the lips lightly, and smiled. "Goodnight."

Her request did not make sense.

Routine came naturally. Sachiko deduced that they meshed into their roles easily because of their early training as seours. She mentioned that once one morning during breakfast, and instantly, Yumi almost stood up from her seat and objected, "No! That's not how I see it."

Sipping her coffee, Sachiko smiled. "Why so flustered? It was a compliment."

Yumi blushed and bit her toast. She gulped and pouted, "Eh? I imagined it more as . . . you know . . ." She did not finish, deeming it embarrassing. Sachiko blushed too, for she knew the words.

Therefore, Yumi waking Sachiko up was included in the routine. That was the reason the alarm was on Yumi's side of the bed. And it came with steps, and levels. The basic was the alarm clock. Next was Yumi shaking Sachiko gently. If shaking were not successful, then a slight scolding from Yumi would be heard. Then the opening of curtains. If Sachiko would still grumble under the sheets, then the blankets must be rid off.

* * *

><p>Yumi was especially violent in the morning. For Sachiko, she was. There was no subtle about her. In the times that Sachiko would wake up earlier than expected, she would hear Yumi scrambled around the bedroom, walking back and forth in front of the bed, as if thinking. Peering through her unused eyelids, she discerned that it was her form of exercise. Her pace was swift, more upbeat, and faster than a march. In the first paces, the steps were heavy and gradually become light until she stopped.<p>

(No, it was not to wake her up. Her footsteps were calming, lulling her more to sleep.)

Then, when Yumi noticed that she was carried away with the walking, she jumbled to the bathroom. She took a shower, singing a rock song that Sachiko thought was from the eighties. Songs that required enough air in the lungs to reach some notes in the song. And that meant deliberately shouting.

One time she heard Yumi singing something in English. She could not distinguish the song at first, but when the chorus came, Yumi's voice reached its loudest, with the lyrics, "/I really need you tonight!/ Forever's gonna start tonight!/Forever's gonna start tonight./" Yumi's English was passable, but, Maria-sama, she's carried away by the song.

When Yumi shook her up after her shower, Sachiko whispered, feigning dissatisfaction, "Your English is atrocious."

"Was it really?" Yumi murmured, conscious at the comment. When Sachiko smirked at her, she saw through the tease and grinned widely, "Finally, I found my _atrocious_ singing just the thing to wake you up. I guess I need to put that in my list . . ."

Then, she would open and close drawers, and took several clothes from the closet—opening and closing it twice or thrice—because she could not decide what to wear. Then she'd stop for a minute, as if picking out clothes was as an important matter as the next performance for a Yamayurikai play. Then, small clanking of hangers. Sachiko, in the daze of her half-asleep state, would look at the almost naked Yumi (in her underwear) who was on trying on clothes in front of the mirror. "The red one. It looks nice." Sachiko would mumble. Then, she was thankful; the sound of hangers was gone.

Yumi would notice Sachiko still in bed would try to pull her from the bed. When she would about to reach out, Sachiko would repeat, "Red is excellent on you."

Yumi would smile, "Really?" then she'd place a kiss on Sachiko's forehead (smearing lip gloss in the process), "Get up, please? And take a bath."

Then, Sachiko's drowsiness would dissipate quickly. "I'm sorry?"

Yumi laughed and trotted away to prepare breakfast.

* * *

><p>There was a time that Yumi used a different method for Sachiko get to her feet. Yumi shook her with more force and asked her nervously, "Sa-sachiko . . . it's already nine in the morning. Don't you have classes?" Sachiko looked at the dressed and worried Yumi, then across the bed for the alarm clock. It ticked 8:46 AM. <em>I must have slept through the alarm. <em>Within three seconds of processing, her body finally reacted with her brain—_Oh,shit_—and scurried to the shower. Yumi put everything to the bed: a set of underwear, a shirt, slacks, blazer. She was on the middle of applying make-up in blistering speed when she check the alarm clock by the bedside drawers for the time (to quickly estimate the time she needed not to be late) when the clock read 7:33 AM. She heard a sizzle of oil and faint rapid talking, of which she guessed to be a rap song. (What in the world . . . ?)

That was so unfair. So low. She retained her composure and decided to use silent treatment. She entered the kitchen (Yumi gasped), and after she sat for breakfast, Yumi put down a fresh cup of coffee and her breakfast. When she looked at Yumi, her nervousness was still there, evident with the creases near her brows. Then, Yumi tried, "Are you mad?"

Sachiko narrowed her eyes, "It is effective."

"It won't happen again. It just came to me . . . I-I made a lot of thinking . . . ." She murmured as she sipped coffee. Then she tentatively looked at Sachiko, to gauge her reaction—

Sachiko was chuckling that she put down her coffee before she spill it. "You won."

Yumi breathed out. "No, you won." She was referring to Sachiko's fake dramatic anger.

* * *

><p>Sachiko wondered if waking her up was beginning to be an unwanted duty. There was an instance that Yumi woke early in the morning and shook her too lightly with warm hands. What was unusual that early morning was when Yumi was still in bed, and when Sachiko put her hands on Yumi's waist to nudge her closer, Yumi was unbearably heating up. With a violent jolt up, she was awake at the sight of Yumi burning up with fever. Instantly, she placed her forehead against Yumi's and with the surge of temperature registering into her skin, she dashed to the closet to procure a facetowel then to the bathroom. Her movements were fast as she headed for the medicine boxes, for a thermometer, for a glass of water. She even prepared warm milk and soup—calling Rei early in the morning for advice to fortify the soup with anything good for someone with cold.<p>

When Yumi woke up, it was almost ten in the morning, and was surprised to find Sachiko sitting on a chair, watching her. "Sorry, I didn't wake you up. You missed your classes."

Sachiko scowled at her, but the expression did not last long. "You looked so tired yesterday. I should have known; you were hiding it from me."

"I'm sorry." Yumi said.

"Let me take care of you, too." Sachiko said, as she replaced the cooling pack on her Yumi's forehead with a new one. The younger girl asked for classes once again, but Sachiko told her not to worry, "I gave my students a set of assignments."

Yumi grunted as she chuckled, "They'll miss a day with the terror professor. Lucky them."

* * *

><p>Sometimes, Sachiko would wake up with a small touch of Yumi's hand on her shoulder. She would uneasily search Yumi's face even though her vision was still hazy. She'd see Yumi's disheveled hair and tired face. Then, Sachiko would take hold of Yumi's hand, in case the latter tear away from the bed.<p>

"Are you still angry?" Sachiko would ask.

"Not anymore. Are you?"

"No."

Then, Yumi would gently release Sachiko from the blanket covering her and pull her away from the bed. Yumi's hand was firm and warm as she suggested softly, "Let's take a bath."

"Oh."

* * *

><p>But there were times when Ogasawara Sachiko would wake up without Yumi shaking her up or making pranks or pulling away covers. Sometimes she has her turn in shutting off the alarm. Sometimes, it's her time to wake Yumi by simple touch and gentle squeeze.<p>

She'd look at Yumi's sleeping face resting on the dip of Sachiko's shoulder, and smile as she noticed Yumi's lips slightly opened, breathing out warm air. Yumi is quite possessive with her hold to Sachiko's middle and their legs were tangled.

She must have looked at a sleeping Sachiko so many times.

She felt Yumi shivered. Yumi unconsciously pulled the sheets to cover their naked bodies up to her neck. Sachiko thought that Yumi would wake, but as warmth built beneath the sheets, Yumi would sigh heavily and resumed to steady breathing.

The alarm clock, if not disabled, would burst off at that moment, but Yumi was still sleeping. Yumi did not need alarm clocks; she proved it many times. Yet, this day, it was Sachiko's turn. She shifted slightly and whispered (reluctantly), "Yumi, wake up."

Yumi buried herself more to the bed and pressed her face on Sachiko's chest. "But . . . it's Sunday."

Later, Sachiko would murmur, "I am hopeless in the morning, am I not?"

Yumi was now fully up. "Hmn, not really."

They got off the bed four hours late that Sunday. Or any day that Yumi wished.

* * *

><p><em>END<em>

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** There. Please give this baby a smile and drop a review. :)


	9. SachikoYumiSuguru

**A/N:** This is independent from all my works. Just like this series' Chapter7 (Sei and Shimako), this belonged to a different plane of existence. Just finish it reading, and please tell me what you think_._

* * *

><p><strong>HOW THEY WISH IT WAS RAINING<strong>

_-TheSilentReader-_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER 9:<p>

* * *

><p><strong>After the Tenth Count<strong>

_Premierière_

Ogasawara Sachiko sat rigidly on a sofa at the living room of the Ogasawara mansion, inspecting dispassionately at a pleated part of her Lillian uniform, having confused thoughts of getting rid of them with successive brushes of her palms or just leave it there. The uniform was to be rid for the laundry anyway, so why bother? Before the sixteen-year-old girl was a tall boy smiling so warmly, rolling the contents of his teacup with ease as he laughed heartily by a small, mundane comment made by Sachiko's mother. The seventeen year-old boy, who was finally becoming a man his upbringing had expected of him, Kashiwagi Suguru taught himself that indulging to small efforts of Sayako Obaa-sama would be enough for the poor woman to be rid of more pressing personal matters. It was the least he could do.

If there were nervousness in Sachiko's features, she would not have shown it; if there were exhaustion overwhelming Suguru's lithe, muscular body, he dismissed it by instinct.

However, their minds were thinking of the same intention: it was to rid of Ogasawara Sayako from the living room. It was a proof that neither of them would ever reveal their hidden skin with the skirmish hanging between the two of them. This was a battle of wits, and neither of them likes to remain a sore loser.

Finally, Sayako left them to their own devices—Sachiko talked quite eagerly about the weather that Kashiwagi joined in to discuss the inventive science behind the improvement of biotechnology against declining agriculture of rice in the uplands—it was all humdrum that Sayako chose to leave them at peace. Besides, maybe Sachiko was finally giving the boy a break; she was rather too disagreeable and impulsive whenever Suguru was in the same room as hers lately.

When Sayako closed the doors, the princess finally chose to get rid of those little white lint upon her skirt—a deed she hastily accomplishing in front of an observing Suguru—in a pace that was very unbecoming for a pure-bred lady like herself. Suguru, however, slouched into his seat and opened his legs, and propped his head to his elbow-supported palms, his black hair swaying as if his own short hair had life.

"So, you have moved on." He started.

Sachiko slid her final effort for the lint with a faint snort, "Of course I have. It was as if you're the only man who could hold my interest so effectively, Guru-kun. I was a bit overwhelmed with my fits of tears in our last encounter alone."

"True, Sa-chan. But, I shall correct you. I am the only man who can understand you." He crowed, his voice titillating, like symphonies of angels. "Perhaps the only man you wanted."

It was a stab upon her chest but she neither ignored it nor rejected it. It was a fact.

"That is also correct." She agreed softly, but challenged. "But it is also the same for you, Guru-kun."

The boy smiled as his form of reply. It was enough for Sachiko to feel liquid upon her knees, air in her lungs and stirring in her belly. He stood up from his seat, walked past the table separating them and knelt before her, like a knight for his lady. The whole room seemed to dim as she watched his form before her, relishing of the moment—that somehow, she was momentarily above him in station. She smirked at her thoughts of raking her hands on his soft, ebony hair.

While her right leg was crossed over her left one, she watched his hand cupped at the sock-covered sole of her right foot, then slid his nimble fingers along the skin covering her Achiles' tendon, then her calf. By that time, her smirk had stretched wider when he said, "Would you like me to grant you a favor?"

Then, he kissed her pleated skirt-covered knee.

Sachiko rejected the offer by swinging her left leg to cross above the right. "That would make the efforts too fruitless, would it not?"

"Of course."

He returned to his seat once more, reveling now he found Sachiko finally wearing her own skin before him, in exchange of the prim, straight-laced girl she pretended to be.

* * *

><p><em>Deuxième<em>

Fukuzawa-san returned his smile with a brighter grin of her own. He intended not pamper the innocent girl with his own sickening dose of cheerfulness—that would appear to everyone to be banal and conceited. He found her pigtails very amusing to watch—just the sway of the manes left and right as she walked slowly upon the cobbled pathway—and it made him wonder of the reason this girl was sent for him.

Of course, she belonged to the student council; who would bother to collect him from the Lillian gates except the high school division's student council? Yumi (very interesting name) reviewed his accomplishments like engraved encryption in an ancient rock tablet; he doesn't mind the celebratory welcome this time, unlike back then, when all he heard about from everyone around him was songs of praise from a betraying Judas. This time, the complements felt more . . . genuine and pleasant.

Unlike with other people. Without him bracing for his back for backstabbing.

Steps ahead after the statue of Maria-sama he found Sachiko lurking behind a ginkgo tree—a very unlikely sight for a woman who hated them during spring. She found him unguarded (damn it) before a first year who had been pacing unhurriedly. He prepared a glare so deadly for that prude (retaliation for his forgetfulness that he was in Sachiko's territory) but he found her glaring too.

(What is this?)

He expected her to be smirking, like back when he first made his move on her (oh, that failed seduction at the living room). This is not what he thought of her.

Yumi-san, however, proceeded on talking to him about Lillian's Maria-sama and Hanadera's Shakyamuni, and her indoor shoes, without realizing that Sachiko was watching them attentively. Suguru took his time to reply to Yumi but simultaneously monitoring Sachiko's movements.

He was violating something of Sachiko's possession. Something that she doesn't want him to know. When he searched for Sachiko's face, she disappeared.

"Eh?" Yumi-san whispered, her voice trailing along with the inquiry she was about to share with Suguru. She must have noticed.

Because when Suguru found himself alone with Sachiko, his assumptions flashed true before his eyes. This girl—Yumi—was not like the girls Sachiko chose to ignore before. She was like the lint in her skirt: irritating and omnipresent. No, nothing like that—like an interesting pet?

Naturally growing on you as time flies?

Oh, it was so exciting. Sachiko's slap and his less acrobatic, graceless fall upon ginkgo seeds were not enough to quell his admiration to Sachiko's fascination for that little girl. That _little_ girl who paled at the sight of him stealing a kiss from Cinderella, and who rushed to follow a storming Sachiko toward the auditorium.

"I'm sorry, but Kashiwagi-san won't cut it!" He heard Yumi as she sprang for her teary senior.

(Oh, so now, Sachiko was really crying, isn't she.)

* * *

><p><em>Troisième<em>

"And so, you took her as your little sister." He paused for a confirmation.

"Yes, I did." Sachiko said. She was on her bed; a thick blanket covering until her waist. She did not put down a hardbound novel even when the bed-springs faintly creaked as Suguru sat on the side, looking intently at her. She found no sense in stopping her reading, the boy did not block the lamp on the side-drawers—the only source of light in the large, luxurious bedroom.

Suguru smiled gently as he crooned his complements for the lovely girl in sleeveless sleeping gown. "There was nothing wrong in admitting it, Sachiko. For once, I found a gentle, compassionate heart behind those wonderful tits of yours."

She smiled at the vulgar mention of her breasts. He found Suguru's hand trailing from the side of her waist going to the swell at the side of her chest.

That made the prude drop her book. "Why, thank you. But it's not hard to believe that you acquired those smooth, glib words from the Ogasawara side." She looked at him to the eyes and braved an arrogant scowl. "I've stomped your foot many times in the dance scene but still you're chanting overly-used pleasantries at a constant rate."

"Am I like your father, whose prick is like a broken compass, pointing obstinately on all directions? I object. I discriminate, Sa-chan. And you belonged to that short list of people I want to see their clothes torn," He hovered his face dangerously near to Sachiko's neck; the latter moved her book for the light and pretended to be so ignorant of his attack. She concentrated her eyes on the illuminated page of the book. "Say, Cinderella, when midnight _strikes_? No pun intended."

She was a fast reader. But the page had not been turned ever since he came to her bedroom.

She feigned nonchalance. "And you rejected my offer, before. What a shame. Flattery from my father and grandfather would get them nowhere, but yours strike right through me, Guru-kun."

Suguru dropped his amused façade and enforced a concerned air. "What have they done?" He held her shoulder, as if to take any bad thoughts out her, like a big brother would have done. Sachiko was surprised at the abruptness of his hands, but not his intention.

She huffed, as she put away Suguru's hand. "Calm down. It's not like that."

"I thought they would go that far."

"They are not Ogasawara's if they would stoop that low." She joked.

"This is not a joke." He growled.

"Oh, please." She whined, but it a different matter. His father's philandering habits still tore her insides. He understood. "We may—I may hate my parents, but what you were thinking is not on my list."

He briefly kissed her on the forehead and stood. "I must go and leave you for now. You should sleep early and find time to read in the _morning _after. Your anemia sprouts from fatigue for staying up late, Sa-chan, not from you waking up early."

Sachiko pouted at the audacity of Suguru striking her flaw upon her impeccable image. "I will. I'll take care of my body just for you, Guru-kun." She said rather sensually, dropping her voice low—a voice Suguru had trouble recovering.

But he had other ideas in her mind. Sachiko had brought him something else interesting. "By the way, I like her, your petite soeur. Would you mind _sharing_ her to me?"

He heard a muffled "You bastard." through the door he had shut.

* * *

><p><em>Quatrième<em>

It was in a rainy, springtime afternoon that she shared her first kiss with someone, let alone with a girl. Although she had touched Suguru's lips lightly in one of their private _talks_, it was never this full. She had hovered her mouth upon Suguru's, but she forgotten how tired she was when Yumi collected her in her arms and confessed to her.

It was days later after Sachiko's grandmother had died; the only adult in the family that she really cared about.

No one had seen Sachiko they way her grandmother would have. She had known Sachiko's dubious façade at first sight; she had seen Sachiko tend her anger towards her parents and grandfather from a little bud into a groping, rummaging vine, seeping through creases and cracks of Sachiko's perverted mind. It was heartbreaking, the first and probably the last person that truly knew her had been gone to the heavens. God must have such a good companion up there now.

When Yumi kissed her relentlessly, Sachiko did not stop her petite soeur to probe her tongue and touch Sachiko's. Yumi must have sensed that this intimacy was wrong—Sachiko was in the middle of her grievances—and attempted to pull away from Sachiko's arms, but she was stopped. The raven-haired Rosa Chinensis had an iron grip of Yumi's head. Sachiko needed nothing right now except Yumi's attention. Her alone.

And her tongue.

She felt her awareness towards her petite soeur as addictive as her aborted spoils with Suguru. She could have found someone better, a man of greater character than him, but all she had found was Yumi, who had spared her comfort she could not find in anyone. Not even Suguru. Not even his taunting words, or his challenging dares. She was willing to put them away, to leave her past behind, just as long as Sachiko could have Yumi.

In those months ever since she met Yumi, she never thought of love as assuring and fearless as before.

When Yumi broke the kiss, Sachiko could not help but whimper in protest. Seeing Sachiko distressed and unsatisfied, Yumi reached for the ribbons securing her pigtails and pulled them. It was enough. Sachiko kissed her more ferociously, more bravely, from the mouth leading down to the neck and collarbone. Yumi even allowed her to reach her left breast and latched to it, in which Yumi returned with a long breathless sigh.

But Yumi pushed her suddenly—too suddenly. Her face, colored showed desire and wanting, was replaced with embarrassment. The movements of her eyes were fast enough for Sachiko to suspect trouble lurking beside they fateful reconciliation. She turned around, and probed to the direction where Yumi's eyes guiltily wandered.

She found Suguru looking at them. But Sachiko found no disgust nor ostracism. She found his eyes hooded, as if savoring the sight before him.

It was true then, what Suguru had told her—he has a deep lust for Fukuzawa Yumi. She belonged to his _short _list.

* * *

><p><em>Cinquième<em>

Yumi would have forgotten her embarrassment of her self-consciousness for Sachiko's cousin, if Yuuki had not brought Kashiwagi-san and Kobayashi-san to the house often these past few weeks. She forced herself not to weaken at the sight of him with Yuuki, too afraid of her brother discovering that his sempai had known more than he'd appeared to be. Kashiwagi was as nonchalant as ever, as if the moment that transpired at the funeral had never happened. But when Yuuki was not looking, Suguru would narrow his eyes and focus on hers—adamant to violate her reticence.

She felt sullied not because of his stares, nor her oblique cheating against Sachiko, but her unwanted, yet undeniable lure for Kashiwagi Suguru.

Somehow, she kind of liked it. His attentions.

Very much like Sachiko, but with a gruff, unexplored, masculine feel. It was Yumi's first opinion as a woman who never been with a boy who irked ever since she was able to think consciously.

Something in the summer must have boiled her brains into thinking of Sachiko's cousin even after a week of being alone with Sachiko in her summer house. Sachiko and Yumi might have hurdled through a silly lot called society, but Yumi did not bother to ask herself questions that would dig more for her building interest about Sachiko's life. She may be honest with Yumi, she may welcome the possibility of answering Yumi's questions, but she may not tell them all. The truth.

She was insecure of how far she could manage to snake out every nook and cranny of how Ogasawara Sachiko lived her life apart from her society and upbringing. Of how far Yumi was prepared to forage Sachiko's psyche, further than the skin that demonstrates The Ice Princess.

Kashiwagi Suguru was one of her shovel.

* * *

><p><em>Sixième<em>

"Tell me. Is it after she became your petite soeur or after your little moment in Oba-sama's funeral?"

"Again, she is _not_ my plaything." Sachiko hissed.

Suguru was reading a book that Sachiko had finished—a genre that Sachiko had tried after she buried her nose to Japanese literary classics, a contemporary romance novel. Whoever has convinced her to read _and _finish the book was worthy of cookies from Suguru. It was not an everyday experience that a person could easily pursuade Sachiko to accomplish such an inane change. She must have been sick of her catalogue of boring books that even their grandparents would be caught sick reading.

It must be Yumi and her friends in the student council.

It was rather fun. Suguru had been lying on the couch in Sachiko's bedroom, flicking through the pages of this _divisive_ book that reduced Sachiko into a fit of brooding at the corner of her four-poster bed. She stopped fighting to grab the book away from him at the first sight of his hands picking up the book on the top of the bed's side drawer. It was enough to induce a speechless taunting.

"By the way, did you know that Yumi-chan has a persistent stalker at Lillian?"

After a length of silence, she spoke, "I had an idea. How did you know about this?"

"Oh, just one of my kohai reached out to me to be Yumi's boyfriend for an afternoon." He gloated. "Actually, I volunteered. I was lucky enough to overhear the council's chitchat that when they mentioned her name, I abandoned all restraints and beg them to join the discussion."

"And you are, in effect, jovial just with your small encounters with my petite soeur?" She dared.

"Small? I never consider them small encounters, Sa-chan."

"Why don't you stick to your own kohai, Suguru?" Her tone was clipped when she mentioned his name. Was she regretting her words? The boy frowned—Sachiko was not as blunt as she used to be.

"You mean Yuuki-san? I never thought you'd even suggest that. All the more a reason that I believe Yumi-chan is more your plaything, than a serious lover." He prodded.

"I never said names. Shall I suggest Alice-san's or Masamune-san's instead to negate your beliefs?" She warned.

Both Suguru and Sachiko regretted that the kohai was included in the conversation. No . . . everything seemed idle apart from her. Yet, even deconstructing Yumi was enough to open old wounds and tearing down newly-built fortresses around them.

"I am surprised, too. I expected you to give your best shot. But all you've done was just . . . _this._" She complained. "I expected you to take her away from me the moment you noticed her. I was agitated ever since." Sachiko let gravity draw her body into the soft mattress of her bed. She was prepared to sleep her worries and let Suguru leave without her permission, because she was barely keeping her temper in check at the sight of the boy. It was too long ever since she felt revolted—it was two years ago, when he rejected her advances.

"I tried."

Sachiko, who was already lying down (her back at Suguru), tried not to jerk. He murmured, "I tried to kiss her. A stupid suggestion to make the act more realistic. But she threw that option to the wind. She said that it was not a good idea, particularly when there was someone watching us."

"Then, if the girl—whoever that sow is—were not keeping her eyes on you, Yumi might have accepted?" The question was as painful as pealing off the whole layer of skin.

He lied down next to Sachiko, and embraced her from behind. Even though both of them were fully clothed—he was in his long-sleeved, collared shirt and black slacks, while she was in her ankle-length nightgown—they were naked to each other as their fully reciprocated, unadulterated honesty.

His breath warmed the hood of her ear when he said, "Who knows. Why don't you ask her?"

There was no seduction in his words, only uncertainty.

* * *

><p><em>Septième<em>

"Now, explain to me why he hasn't done anything." She stonily insisted. They were alone in the greenhouse.

Her question was more of a conundrum.

Too much time had passed before Sachiko had the courage to ask her about Suguru. She knew that her cousin did attempt to chase her petite soeur since Kanako's overzealous obsession over Yumi. Even after the Yamayurikai play and the school festival had passed, Sachiko had too much on her mind that striking a supercilious dominance over her lover was too tiresome and straining, just imagining it.

Their meetings in the greenhouse were never calculated, as well as Sachiko's question after their heady make-out session. Bringing up Suguru was always the deal-breaker. It ruined perfect conversations and the mood for heavy petting.

"Onee-sama, I don't think I would allow him to kiss me, even though we were just pretending." Yumi meekly retorted, as she pulled herself away from Sachiko's embrace.

It was true, then. Suguru proved himself to be fully honest with Sachiko. Yumi chose not to run away from Sachiko's concern; uncharacteristic of her to do. It became a nagging thought that Yumi was having a confused impression of Suguru, besides her early assumption that her petite soeur hated Suguru because he rejected her two years ago.

"I told him not to." Yumi repeated, force overtaking her timid voice.

"Be honest with me." Sachiko frowned at her audacity to demand answers as if it was Yumi's fault.

"I . . . I ask you the same thing." Yumi clenched her hands into fists. She was trying her hardest to look straight to Sachiko's eyes. It was her turn to raise her voice. "I can feel that there is more of you and Kashiwagi-san than most people know. More than anyone knows. More than I know."

Sachiko deferred from winning. She knew that both she and Suguru made this happen. "I won't deny that he has the worst of faults, that he has what I hate the most in men. Yes, he is manipulative, he is almost cruel, but at the same time, he is sympathetic. He doesn't lie to me. I trust him."

The contrasts were appalling. The girl in pigtails declared in struggling menace. "You still love him."

Sachiko shuddered. She whispered, almost disoriented to breathe properly, "Do I appear as the worst woman you've ever met? Because I don't blame you at all. Not a bit." Then, she straightened her posture, ready to face all consequences. "As a matter of fact, I drove you into this. I've let you seen too much. Suguru and I have become disfigured before your eyes."

"I won't be surprised if you don't want me anymore." Sachiko stifled a faint cry as she mewled.

Yumi never felt guilty in her entire life. She was confused about Suguru, and if they had the same conversation, it could turn out like this. It was her wishful thinking—that his grace of being honest to his friends would be extended to her. But Sachiko could read her, like a lover and sister should. And Sachiko understood. Because they were similar.

In silent tears, Yumi shouted before Sachiko caught her by her back to embrace and kiss her again. "I don't understand why I couldn't even become upset. Why couldn't I?!"

* * *

><p><em>Huitième<em>

She was inside Sachiko's bedroom, right after the doctor was dismissed after the general check-up on the Ogasawara heiress' health. The moment the door was closed and locked, Yumi ran to Sachiko's bed and took her lips in a languid kiss.

All was said and done. Sachiko wanted Yumi to hold her hand. Kashiwagi might have known her all her life, but it was Yumi who she wanted to be with when she was weak like this. Sachiko gave her assurance but it did not erase the fact that when Suguru came into Sachiko's rescue, his face soften and his arms sturdied—his strength was more than enough to carry Sachiko. His face showed more than concern that a brother would show. When he noticed Yumi watching him, he entrusted Sachiko to the younger girl, without hesitation, without jealousy. He just demonstrated how to be selfless.

Weren't they competing for Sachiko's love?

Were they really?

Because after Kashiwagi drove Yuuki and Yumi back home after a long day in the amusement park, after Yuuki gave him a glare as he strode into the doors when Yumi wanted to talk to Kashiwagi alone, and after their heated discussion about jealousy, types of love and _insurance,_ Yumi found Kashiwagi's teasing about not minding to be Yumi's _fiancé_ not a fucking joke. He intended to get into Yumi's pants. Just as she thought that she could imagine him going down on her, eating her, like Sachiko have done gladly.

* * *

><p><em>Neuvième*<em>

"Are you prepared to accept her?"

Yumi was astonished at the question. It was a question related to Touko, but the spotlight was immediately shared with Sachiko. Everything was clouded to hide secrets, to keep them at bay from prying, questioning eyes. Even Yumi, who had nothing to conceal before, had troubles keeping the act that nothing about Suguru would rattle her.

Suguru tore off his sunglasses. Then he turned off the engine of his sports car and slumped his shoulders to his cushioned seat. Whatever he knew, his sadness emanated in his tired features. Before Yumi could stop herself, she reached out beyond the window of the car. The urge to comfort him got the best of her. Alarmed, she retreived it and settled her hand at the frame instead.

"I . . ."

There was too much to consider—accepting herself, Touko, Sachiko, and even Suguru. If it were just a small matter, Suguru would not be as greatly affected, as he would show. If Suguru prefered to keep his feelings for himself, then the exposure of his distress was just a fraction of his emotions inside. He must have been restraining himself.

"For your sake, and for Touko's sake, think about it once more before asking me." He said as he looked at "If I'm asked again, I'll answer you."

She watched his car sped away. But she felt his concern for Touko still saturated from where he left. His concern for his cousin had blown her tremendously she felt so little compared to him. Even though they were just cousins, he understood Touko as any loving brother would.

Sachiko had been right. He was very perceptive.

* * *

><p><em>Dixième*<em>

"You love Yumi, don't you?"

Kashiwagi made a comical face as he objected and shook his head. "What are you saying? I . . ." Suguru stiffed mid-sentence.

"I see. I'm sorry." Sachiko looked away from him as she muttered her apology.

It had been all too peculiar to see Suguru denied his feelings for Yumi in front of her. She could never remember the boy reluctant to tell her the truth, no matter how hurting, how small or great it was. He had nothing to hide from her, as well as she from him. There was no point in lying. Many a reason be possible for his unwillingness to deny his feelings, but somehow, he became much simpler to understand. Looking at his point of view, she knew.

He stopped playing the game. Their game. She had stopped long ago, when Yumi and she became lovers. He stopped playing when he realized he became attached to Sachiko's lover more than he wanted. He frowned. "I know. I should have laughed and said, 'Yumi-chan's a good child, so I love her.'"

Yumi was not a plaything, a bet. Yumi loved Touko and accepted her regardless of Touko's past and insecurities. Just this effort for Touko was enough for Suguru to surrender.

Sachiko could not laugh at him. "Something like that. I may have not understood you in the past, but recently, I began to understand things."

It was a momentous revelation in a very inappropriate location such as a comfort room in the Ogasawara mansion.

Neither of them could taunt the other. This was supposedly Sachiko's triumph over their little teasing about that peculiar pigtailed girl named Fukuzawa Yumi, but she felt she did not deserve even an ounce of Yumi's affections.

Yumi understood Sachiko and Suguru's closeness . . . far more than Sachiko ever expected of her.

He broke the silence with a half-baked joke. "If you have to put my love on a balance, I love you far more than Yumi-chan." His face showed he did not even like what he was saying.

"It's a different type of love, right?"

"Yes, you sure are smart, Sa-chan."

The conversation sounded so foul he gritted his teeth. "I should be going. If we stay in the restroom for too long, even Oba-sama will have strange thoughts."

Sachiko took his hand, just to make sure if everything that happened here—his distaste of their conversation tonight (he enjoyed them before), his failed confidence (he executed it perfectly before)—were all truths. When she felt his hand cold and shaking lightly, she knew he was afraid of his change.

He was afraid because he was not in control anymore.

Sachiko looked for an excuse just so not to embarrass Suguru. Even though they were alone in the washroom. "Wait. You forgot to wash your hands."

* * *

><p><em>Èpilogue<em>

Sachiko's room has large windows, but seldom had its curtains been opened completely. On Sachiko's bed, Yumi was lying on her stomach, her lithe back exposed up to the cleavage of her buttocks. The sheen of sweat present hours ago had evaporated, minuscule hairs gently rising. The owner of the bed was standing before the tall windows, gazing at the cloudless, star-studded sky, wearing nothing but her skin. She did not bother covering.

She had received her diploma, and that weekend, she wanted nothing but to be with Yumi. Alone, in this very place she considered her home. The size of the summer house did not match the Ogasawara estate, but she can breathe easier here. Hallways and staircases may be smaller and narrower, but she was not suffocated. They had the house by themselves. Not even the housekeeper took her time to leave them at peace.

It was too silent that even the smooth revving of a car could be very loud, that Yumi shifted in her sleep when Suguru's red sports car parked beside Sachiko's black sedan. When Suguru got out, he immediately looked up to the lightless window and smiled warmly at the sight of a nude Sachiko bathing in the blue moonlight.

He knew the way: the spare key (beneath a pot of cactus before the porch), Sachiko's room, closet, bed. He deposited his suitcase beside the bed, and grazed his eyes at Yumi's naked backside. Sachiko remained by the window, watching Suguru sat beside Yumi, as he smoothed her nape and kissed it gently. Yumi stirred and turned her back to the bed, just so she could look up to the man, who combed her bangs away from her forehead and leaned down again to kiss her there. It trailed downwards—to her cheek, then on her opened mouth.

Sachiko drew to the bed, and burried herself beneath the thick covers. Tonight would be Yumi's first time with a man, as well as Sachiko's. Yet, she contented herself to watch for now, to look at Suguru from a different angle . . . with her woman. Perhaps he could never bestow such unique, longing scrutiny to Sachiko as he would for Yumi, but at least Sachiko had witnessed it. As well as Yumi's wonderment when she reached with her hand and carressed Suguru's cheek.

It was the same as Sachiko's severe honesty to Suguru, or Suguru's complete understanding of Sachiko, or Yumi's exalted worship and adoration for Sachiko.

Or Suguru and Sachiko's warped, incomparable, ceaseless desire for Yumi.

And the other way around.

Yumi broke the kiss and look away to search for Sachiko's eyes, but the latter just closed their lids to settle the girl's doubts. Then, Yumi gave in to her instinct, and unfastened the buttons of Suguru's crisp shirt.

Perhaps three had been a crowd.

But, no matter. The bed was large enough.

* * *

><p><em>END<em>

* * *

><p>* The conversations in <em>Neuvième <em>and _Dixième _were ripped off from (Maria-sama Ga Miteru, Fourth Season) episodes 6 and 10, respectively. I changed the way they acted during those two different scenes.

**A/N: **OOCs everywhere. There is an unabridged version of this, if you must know. My sister insisted that I should publish whole thing, but I defended that not everyone likes a detailed rundown of what happened _exactly__,_ when this threesome was so guaranteed. But sex scenes are important too.

Implications are enough, but not wholly satisfying. I wish I could write as beautifully as the top writers in this fandom... PWP or not. Because having a PWP fic with tweaked characters for some subtle character study is one hard thing to do. Please, tell me if I nailed it?

Cookies for those who will send PMs and reviews!


	10. Unabridged Chapter 9

**HOW THEY WISH IT WAS RAINING**

_-TheSilentReader-_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER 9:<p>

* * *

><p><strong>After the Tenth Count<strong>

_Premierière_

Ogasawara Sachiko sat rigidly on a sofa at the living room of the Ogasawara mansion, inspecting dispassionately at a pleated part of her Lillian uniform, having confused thoughts of getting rid of them (with successive brushes of her palms) or just leave it there. The uniform was to be rid for the laundry anyway, so why bother? Before the sixteen-year-old girl was a tall boy smiling so warmly, rolling the contents of his teacup with ease as he laughed heartily because of a small, mundane comment made by Sachiko's mother. The seventeen year-old boy, who was finally becoming a man his upbringing expected of him, Kashiwagi Suguru taught himself that indulging to small efforts of Sayako Obaa-sama would be enough for the poor woman to rid more pressing personal matters. It was the least he could do.

If there were nervousness in Sachiko's features, she would not show it; if there were exhaustion overwhelming Suguru's lithe, muscular body, he dismissed it by instinct.

However, their minds were thinking of the same intention: it was to rid Ogasawara Sayako from the living room—a proof that neither of them would ever reveal their hidden skin, with the skirmish hanging between them. This was a battle of wits, and no one likes to be a sore loser.

Finally, Sayako left them to their own devices—Sachiko talked quite eagerly about the weather and Kashiwagi joined in to discuss the inventive science behind the improvement of biotechnology against declining agriculture of rice in the uplands—it was all humdrum that Sayako chose to leave them at peace. Besides, maybe Sachiko was finally giving the boy a chance; she was rather too disagreeable and impulsive whenever Suguru-kun was in the same room as hers lately.

When Sayako closed the doors, the princess finally chose to remove of those little white lint upon her skirt—a deed she hastily accomplished in front of an observing Suguru—in a pace that was very unbecoming for a purebred lady like herself. Suguru, however, slouched on his seat and further opened his legs and propped his head to his elbow-supported palms, his shoty, black hair swaying as if it had life.

"So, you have moved on." He started.

Sachiko swished her final effort for the lint with a faint snort, "Of course I have. It was not as if you're the only man who could hold my interest so effectively, Guru-kun. I was a bit overwhelmed with my fits of tears in our last encounter alone."

"True, Sa-chan. But, I shall correct you. I am the only man who can understand you." He crowed, his voice titillating, like symphonies of angels. "Perhaps the only man you wanted."

It was a stab upon her chest, but she neither ignored it nor rejected it. It was a fact.

"That is also correct." She agreed softly, but challenged. "But it's also the same for you, Guru-kun."

The boy smiled as his form of reply. It was enough for Sachiko to feel liquid upon her knees, air in her lungs and stirring in her belly. He stood up from his seat, walked past the table separating them and knelt before her, like a knight for his lady. The whole room seemed to dim as she watched his form before her, relishing the moment . . . that somehow, she was momentarily above him in station. She smirked at her thoughts of raking her hands on his soft, ebony hair.

While her right leg was crossed over her left one, she watched his hand cupped the sock-covered sole of her right foot, then slid his nimble fingers along the skin covering her Achilles' tendon, then her calf. By that time, her smirk had stretched wider when he said, "Would you like me to grant you a favor?"

Then, he kissed her pleated skirt-covered knee.

Sachiko rejected the offer by swinging her left leg to cross above the right. "That would make the efforts too fruitless, would it not?"

"Of course."

He returned to his seat once more, reveling now he found Sachiko finally wearing her own skin before him, in exchange of the prim, straight-laced girl she pretended to be.

* * *

><p><em>Deuxième<em>

Fukuzawa-san returned his smile with a brighter grin of her own. He intended not pamper the innocent girl with his own sickening dose of cheerfulness—that would appear to everyone to be banal and conceited. He found her pigtails very amusing to watch—just the sway of the manes left and right as she walked slowly upon the cobbled pathway—and it made him wonder of the reason this girl was sent for him.

Of course, she belonged to the student council; who would bother to collect him from the Lillian gates except the high school division's Yamayurikai? Yumi (very interesting name) reviewed his accomplishments like engraved encryption in an ancient rock tablet; he doesn't mind the celebratory welcome this time, unlike back then, when all he heard about from everyone was songs of praise from betraying Judases. This time, the complements felt more . . . genuine and pleasant.

Unlike with others, when he always braced for his back for backstabbing.

Steps ahead after the statue of Maria-sama he found Sachiko lurking behind a ginkgo tree—a very unlikely sight for a woman who hated them during spring. She found him unguarded (damn it) before a first year who had been pacing unhurriedly. He prepared a glare so deadly for that prude (retaliation for his forgetfulness that he was in Sachiko's territory) but he found her glaring too.

(What is this?)

He expected her to be smirking, like back when he first made his move on her (oh, that failed seduction at the living room). This is not what he thought of her.

Yumi-san, however, proceeded on talking to him about Lillian's Maria-sama and Hanadera's Shakyamuni, and her indoor shoes, without realizing that Sachiko was watching them attentively. Suguru took his time replying to Yumi but simultaneously monitoring Sachiko's movements.

He was violating something of Sachiko's possession. Something that she doesn't want him to know. When he searched for Sachiko's face, she disappeared.

"Eh?" Yumi-san whispered, her voice trailing along with the inquiry she was about to share with Suguru. She must have noticed her.

Because when Suguru found himself alone with Sachiko, his assumptions flashed true before his eyes. This girl—Yumi—was not like the girls Sachiko chose to ignore before. She was like the lint in her skirt: irritating and omnipresent. No, nothing like that—like an interesting pet?

Naturally growing on you as time flies?

Oh, it was so exciting. Sachiko's slap and his less acrobatic, graceless fall upon ginkgo seeds were not enough to quell his admiration to Sachiko's fascination for that little girl. That _little_ girl who paled at the sight of him stealing a kiss from Cinderella, and who rushed to follow a storming Sachiko toward the auditorium.

"I'm sorry, but Kashiwagi-san won't cut it!" He heard Yumi as she sprang for her teary senior.

(Oh, so now, Sachiko was really crying, isn't she.)

* * *

><p><em>Troisième<em>

"And so, you took her as your little sister." He paused for a confirmation.

"Yes, I did." Sachiko said. She was on her bed; a thick blanket covering until her waist. She did not put down the hardbound novel she was holding, even when the bedsprings faintly creaked as Suguru sat on the side, looking intently at her. She found no sense in stopping her reading; the boy did not block the lamp's light from the side-drawers—the only source in the large, luxurious bedroom.

Suguru smiled gently as he crooned his complements for the lovely girl in sleeveless sleeping gown. "There is nothing wrong in admitting it, Sachiko. For once, I found a gentle, compassionate heart behind those wonderful tits of yours."

She smiled at the vulgar mention of her breasts. He found Suguru's hand trailing from the side of her waist going to the swell at the side of her chest.

It made the prude drop her book. "Why, thank you. But it's not hard to believe that you acquired those smooth, glib words from the Ogasawara side." She looked at him to the eyes and braved an arrogant scowl. "I've stomped your foot many times in the dance scene but still, you're chanting overly-used pleasantries at a constant rate."

"Am I like your father, whose prick is like a broken compass, pointing obstinately on all directions? I object. I discriminate, Sa-chan. And you belonged to that short list of people I want to see their clothes torn," He hovered his face dangerously near to Sachiko's neck; the latter moved her book for the light and pretended to be so ignorant of his attack. She concentrated her eyes on the illuminated page of the book. "Say, Cinderella, when midnight _strikes_? No pun intended."

She was a fast reader. But the page had not been turned ever since he came to her bedroom.

His hands were on her sides, gently caressing up and down her body. She shifted to let him have his way on her; besides, these meetings with him came close to a booty call. Only that she always stopped him from going too far, or he always backed away when he was to close to threshold.

They see at each other's body like fresh meat, always mindful of every taut muscle or soft fat, and satisfied themselves with little nips and bites. There was always something—a memory, the mood, an interruption—that made their supposedly booty calls be aborted.

Looking at each other's faces, was the hardest thing to do.

That's why he would settle on touching her everywhere else, eliciting little moans in the process. He would settle on stroking her long, long legs, kissing the back of her knees up to the her thighs, kneading gently the swell of her breasts—pinching her nipples in the process, feeling her buttocks upon his covered groin, or touching secrets beyond her inner thighs.

In turn, she would latch herself to him, her covered thighs circling his waist, her teeth biting his shoulders, her long thin fingers stretching as their nails bit down from his broad back to his unsuspecting buttocks. Or stroke him through his boxers sometimes.

They would have done those—only those—this time, but she felt that the subject of their discussion was pouring them cold water.

Yet the warmth between them was enough to allow little touches such as this.

She feigned nonchalance. "And you rejected my offer, before. What a shame. Flattery from my father and grandfather would get them nowhere, but yours strike right through me, Guru-kun."

Suguru dropped his amused façade and enforced a concerned air. "What have they done?" He held her shoulder, as if to take any bad thoughts out her, like a big brother would have done. Sachiko was surprised at the abruptness of his hands, but not his intention.

She huffed, as she put away Suguru's hand. "Calm down. It's not like that."

"I thought they would go that far."

"They are not Ogasawara's if they would stoop that low." She joked.

"This is not a joke." He growled.

"Oh, please." She whined, but it a different matter. His father's philandering habits still tore her insides. He understood. "We may—I may hate my parents, but what you were thinking is not on my list."

He briefly kissed her on the forehead and stood. "I must go and leave you for now. You should sleep early and find time to read in the _morning_after. Your anemia sprouts from fatigue for staying up late, Sa-chan, not from you waking up early."

Sachiko pouted at the audacity of Suguru striking her flaw upon her impeccable image. "I will. I'll take care of my body just for you, Guru-kun." She said rather sensually, dropping her voice low—a voice Suguru had trouble recovering.

But he had other ideas in her mind. Sachiko had brought him something else interesting. "By the way, I like her, your petite soeur. Would you mind _sharing_ her to me?"

He heard a muffled "You bastard." through the door he had shut.

* * *

><p><em>Quatrième<em>

It was in a rainy, springtime afternoon when she shared her first kiss with someone, let alone with a girl. Although she had touched Suguru's lips lightly in one of their private _talks_, she had hovered her mouth upon Suguru's, but it was never this full. She had forgotten how tired she was when Yumi collected her in her arms and confessed.

Sachiko's grandmother had died; the only adult in the family that she really cared about.

No one had seen Sachiko they way her grandmother would have. She had known Sachiko's dubious façade at first sight; she had seen Sachiko tending her anger towards her parents and grandfather from a little bud into a groping, rummaging vine, seeping through creases and cracks of Sachiko's perverted mind. It was heartbreaking—the first and probably the last person that truly knew her had been gone to the heavens. God must have such a good companion up there now.

When Yumi kissed her relentlessly, Sachiko did not stop her petite soeur to probe her tongue and touch Sachiko's. Yumi must have sensed that this intimacy was wrong—Sachiko was in the middle of her grieving—and attempted to pull away from Sachiko's arms, but she was stopped. The raven-haired Rosa Chinensis had an iron grip of Yumi's head. Sachiko needed nothing right now except Yumi's attention. Her alone.

And her tongue.

Yumi was swift enough to pool the length the skirt of Sachiko's uniform upon her waist after pinning her down to the four-poster bed. Sachiko looked everywhere, unable to protest because she knew what Yumi was going to do. She halfway noticed that the curtains safely tucked at the posts must cover them, before anything could happen, but she gave up. She was immediately hooked to her desire for Yumi's face between her legs. And kiss her and bite her and run her tongue on her like a rabied dog—eyes red, mouth hanging, and tongue glazed with saliva for her cunt.

Why was she not hesitant? She overtly was with Suguru . . . they were in the brink that he was about to tore her skirt and panties and to go down on her like this, yet why was she so trusting with it for Yumi alone?

She felt her awareness towards her petite soeur as addictive as her aborted spoils with Suguru. She could have found someone better, a man of greater character than him, but all she had found was Yumi, who had spared her comfort she could not find in anyone. Not even Suguru. Not even his taunting words, or his challenging dares. She was willing to put them away, to leave her past behind, just as long as Sachiko could have Yumi.

In those months ever since she met Yumi, she never thought of love as assuring and fearless as before.

Yumi was never as brave as she was, not even in her fantasies. She could not point her finger in this moment when she was finally able to see Sachiko. Must it be the perverseness that she would gladly tear Sachiko's sadness away by just pleasuring her? It was the first thing that came into her mind. Sachiko felt that everyone left her when her grandmother died; now, Yumi must fill that void and instill to Sachiko that she's _here, I exist, I love you, and I will make love to you so that you will never feel that you are alone._

And taking her cunt will make a fierce impression that she _meant_ what she meant.

When Yumi looked at Sachiko, she was still lost in the sea of bliss. Yumi thought to herself, _I made her happy. I did. I did make her happy._ She was desperate to see Sachiko's satisfied face, which Yumi had not seen for a long time. It was always what Yumi wanted, to make her happy. She was so selfish; she had not thought of Sachiko's distress and had become jealous of Touko-chan.

She had doubts before, but seeing Sachiko's grin as she rode the wave of orgasm was enough for her to realize that Sachiko is hers.

She put her arms to her sides to support her weight above Sachiko as she planted herself between her and kissed Sachiko on the lips.

Sachiko could taste the tang of herself saturated on Yumi's tongue. She thought that there's nothing wrong with Yumi doing her task so eagerly all the time.

When Yumi broke the kiss, Sachiko could not help but whimper in protest. Seeing Sachiko distressed and unsatisfied, Yumi reached for the ribbons securing her pigtails and pulled them. It was enough. Sachiko kissed her more ferociously, more bravely, from the mouth leading down to the neck and collarbone. Yumi even allowed her to reach her left breast and latched to it, in which Yumi returned with a long breathless sigh.

But Yumi pushed her suddenly—too suddenly. Her face, colored showed desire and wanting, was replaced with embarrassment. The movements of her eyes were fast enough for Sachiko to suspect trouble lurking beside they fateful reconciliation. She turned around, and probed to the direction where Yumi's eyes guiltily wandered.

She found Suguru looking at them. But Sachiko found no disgust nor ostracism. She found his eyes hooded, as if savoring the sight before him.

It was true then, what Suguru had told her—he has a deep lust for Fukuzawa Yumi. She belonged to his _short_list.

* * *

><p><em>Cinquième<em>

Yumi would have forgotten her embarrassment of her self-consciousness for Sachiko's cousin, if Yuuki had not brought Kashiwagi-san and Kobayashi-san to the house often these past few weeks. She forced herself not to weaken at the sight of him with Yuuki, too afraid of her brother discovering that his sempai had known more than he'd appeared to be.

How could she forget that her first time with Sachiko, or with anyone else for God's sake, was reduced as a peep show for Suguru?! It left a dent in her that she was afraid of the second time—if ever it will be possible, for every time she would lay her hands on Sachiko's body, she will remember that Kashiwagi had found them at their barest of desires. She could not even fathom the idea of how long he had been seeing them had sex—she felt go good in pleasing Sachiko that time stretched too long for her. She felt so tired and rejuvenated at that time that she could do it for hours.

Yet Kashiwagi made all attempts for having that second time with Sachiko an unfulfilled dream.

Kashiwagi was as nonchalant as ever, as if the moment that transpired at the funeral had never happened. But when Yuuki was not looking, Suguru would narrow his eyes and focus on hers—adamant to violate her reticence.

What she dreaded were the times that Kashiwagi, Yuuki and Kobayashi will be using their house as their meeting place, even though their parents were not present. Yuuki asked their permission without even informing her. She would be alarmed of the moment of being alone together . . . what will she say to him? What will he . . . do?

She had seen the look on his face when he watched them. She did not know who he was watching—her or Sachiko. But, maybe it was Sachiko. But she knew that Kashiwagi rejected her two years ago, and he was not interested in women, yet why was he so transparent in showing his lust?

Thus, such dreaded possibility came true. Yuuki and Kobayashi had gone away because they left needed documents in Hanadera that needed advice from Kashiwagi. In haste and shame for having their sempai wait to long, they left him to Yumi, who would cook for Yuuki and his companions at that time, as substitute for her absent mother.

She was sure she would turn into salt if she took just a mere glance at Kashiwagi's direction.

She was in the kitchen when she heard him say, "How are you and Sa-chan?" How she hated it when he called her that. She looked at him unconsciously and there, the tension made the air seemed too humid.

He walked near her and started looking at the ingredients. She was holding a knife, intended to protect herself for whatever that would happen. She replied, "I appreciate it if we won't talk about this."

She was now mincing garlic when he said, "You are with my closest cousin. I'll be concern of her business. Even with the people she's fucking with."

He was preparing to boil water and she was now moving for the onions when she tried to put threat in her voice, "This is not your concern, Kashiwagi-san."

He placed the pot of water to the stove, and turned the burner on. Then he walked to her direction; his eyes angry as he spat, "What do you think I'll feel when I see you going down on my fiance? You are the nuisance—"

"SHUT UP!"

He was never afraid of his life than ever before as he felt her fingernails slitting the side of his cheek. Yumi just _scratched_ him. He looked at the direction of her chopping board, thanking that the knife she was holding a while ago was _there_. And if he haven't grabbed her arms, she would have tore something else other than the skin of his cheek. He pulled her arm and forced her to look at him.

She was trying hard not to cry. "Do . . . do you think I didn't know that she could leave me later on?"

He was astonished of how aware she was with the future. "I'm sorry."

Then she noticed that lines of blood were trailing downwards. Her failed thrust had cut a little deep upon his cheek. She immediately realized that she had done too much, that she had lost her self. Tears fell from her eyes. Kashiwagi held her still.

"You—you're bl-bleeding!" she hoarsely said, horrified at what she had done.

She could not place what happened to her when she took her hands on the sides of her head and licked his bloodied skin. She stayed like that for what she perceived was a long time, her eyes very closed, wishing gravely for blood to _please please please please do not flow, please stop this bleeding, I don't want to see blood, I hate the sight of it, please heal . . ._

Until she felt herself lying on the couch.

The smell of spaghetti sauce in the air was relaxing, and then, she felt hungry. She could not remember cooking the sauce. She opened her eyes and found Suguru looking at her. When he saw her woke up, he put her hand to her forehead and gave her a glass of water. She took and drank from it.

"You look pale."

The scratch on his cheek was still bare, but it was void of blood. A thin line would not leave a mark.

Several minutes later, Kobayashi and Yuuki were at the door. They never said anything about the different cooking (Yumi's sauce was not like this), and the gash on Kashiwagi's cheek. When Yuuki asked about it, he said that he had an accident with the knife he was holding while he was slicing onions. Yuuki offered bandages for it.

In the rest of their visits, Kashiwagi did not even give Yumi a chance to explain or even to apologize. He just stared at her to keep her mouth shut, as if he would reveal to Yuuki that she was the cause of Kashiwagi's wound. Many things will be revealed if that happened.

He just stared. Which she found not so intimidating.

She felt sullied not because of this, but her unwanted, yet undeniable lure for Kashiwagi Suguru. She was indirectly cheating against Sachiko.

Somehow, she kind of liked it. His attentions.

Very much like Sachiko, but with a gruff, unexplored, masculine feel. It was Yumi's first opinion as a woman who never been with a boy who irked ever since she was able to think consciously.

Something in the summer must have boiled her brains into thinking of Sachiko's cousin even after a week of being alone with Sachiko in her summer house. Sachiko and Yumi might have hurdled through a silly lot called society, but Yumi did not bother to ask herself questions that would dig more for her building interest about Sachiko's life. She may be honest with Yumi, she may welcome the possibility of answering Yumi's questions, but she may not tell them all. The truth.

She was insecure of how far she could manage to snake out every nook and cranny of how Ogasawara Sachiko lived her life apart from her society and upbringing. Of how far Yumi was prepared to forage Sachiko's psyche, further than the skin that demonstrates The Ice Princess.

Kashiwagi Suguru was one of her shovel.

* * *

><p><em>Sixième<em>

"Tell me. Is it after she became your petite soeur or after your little moment in Oba-sama's funeral?"

"Again, she is _not_ my plaything." Sachiko hissed.

Suguru was reading a book that Sachiko had finished—a genre that Sachiko had tried after she buried her nose to Japanese literary classics, a contemporary romance novel. Whoever has convinced her to read _and_finish the book was worthy of cookies from Suguru. It was not an everyday experience that a person could easily pursuade Sachiko to accomplish such an inane change. She must have been sick of her catalogue of boring books that even their grandparents would be caught sick reading.

It must be Yumi and her friends in the student council.

It was rather fun. Suguru had been lying on the couch in Sachiko's bedroom, flicking through the pages of this _divisive_ book that reduced Sachiko into a fit of brooding at the corner of her four-poster bed. She stopped fighting to grab the book away from him at the first sight of his hands picking up the book on the top of the bed's side drawer. It was enough to induce a speechless taunting.

"By the way, did you know that Yumi-chan has a persistent stalker at Lillian?"

After a length of silence, she spoke, "I had an idea. How did you know about this?"

"Oh, just one of my kohai reached out to me to be Yumi's boyfriend for an afternoon." He gloated. "Actually, I volunteered. I was lucky enough to overhear the council's chitchat that when they mentioned her name, I abandoned all restraints and beg them to join the discussion."

"And you are, in effect, jovial just with your small encounters with my petite soeur?" She dared.

"Small? I never consider them small encounters, Sa-chan."

"Why don't you stick to your own kohai, Suguru?" Her tone was clipped when she mentioned his name. Was she regretting her words? The boy frowned—Sachiko was not as blunt as she used to be.

"You mean Yuuki-san? I never thought you'd even suggest that. All the more a reason that I believe Yumi-chan is more your plaything, than a serious lover." He prodded.

"I never said names. Shall I suggest Alice-san's or Masamune-san's instead to negate your beliefs?" She warned.

Both Suguru and Sachiko regretted that the kohai was included in the conversation. No . . . everything seemed idle apart from her. Yet, even deconstructing Yumi was enough to open old wounds and tearing down newly-built fortresses around them.

"I am surprised, too. I expected you to give your best shot. But all you've done was just . . . _this._" She complained. "I expected you to take her away from me the moment you noticed her. I was agitated ever since." Sachiko let gravity draw her body into the soft mattress of her bed. She was prepared to sleep her worries and let Suguru leave without her permission, because she was barely keeping her temper in check at the sight of the boy. It was too long ever since she felt revolted—it was two years ago, when he rejected her advances.

When he remembered the time Yumi kissed his wound, he felt that he was betraying Sachiko. He felt Yumi's pain of knowing the certainty that their relationship would meet a dead end soon, and even though he tried to neglect it, he tried by doing things the way he initially does—which was to get ahead of Sachiko—these were beginning to take a hold of the scruples that he used to lack before.

He tried to seduce Yumi, literally, once.

"I tried."

Sachiko, who was already lying down (her back at Suguru), tried not to jerk. He murmured, "I tried to kiss her. A stupid suggestion to make the act more realistic. But she threw that option to the wind. She said that it was not a good idea, particularly when there was someone watching us."

"Then, if the girl—whoever that sow is—were not keeping her eyes on you, Yumi might have accepted?" The question was as painful as pealing off the whole layer of skin.

He lied down next to Sachiko, and embraced her from behind. Even though both of them were fully clothed—he was in his long-sleeved, collared shirt and black slacks, while she was in her ankle-length nightgown—they were naked to each other as their fully reciprocated, unadulterated honesty.

His breath warmed the hood of her ear when he said, "Who knows. Why don't you ask her?"

There was no seduction in his words, only uncertainty.

* * *

><p><em>Septième<em>

"Now, explain to me why he hasn't done anything." She stonily insisted. They were alone in the greenhouse.

Her question was more of a conundrum.

Too much time had passed before Sachiko had the courage to ask her about Suguru. She knew that her cousin did attempt to chase her petite soeur since Kanako's overzealous obsession over Yumi. Even after the Yamayurikai play and the school festival had passed, Sachiko had too much on her mind that striking a supercilious dominance over her lover was too tiresome and straining, just imagining it.

Their meetings in the greenhouse were never calculated, as well as Sachiko's question after their heady make-out session. Bringing up Suguru was always the deal-breaker. It ruined perfect conversations and the mood for heavy petting.

"Onee-sama, I don't think I would allow him to kiss me, even though we were just pretending." Yumi meekly retorted, as she pulled herself away from Sachiko's embrace.

It was true, then. Suguru proved himself to be fully honest with Sachiko. Yumi chose not to run away from Sachiko's concern; uncharacteristic of her to do. It became a nagging thought that Yumi was having a confused impression of Suguru, besides her early assumption that her petite soeur hated Suguru because he rejected her two years ago.

"I told him not to." Yumi repeated, force overtaking her timid voice.

"Be honest with me." Sachiko frowned at her audacity to demand answers as if it was Yumi's fault.

"I . . . I ask you the same thing." Yumi clenched her hands into fists. She was trying her hardest to look straight to Sachiko's eyes. It was her turn to raise her voice. "I can feel that there is more of you and Kashiwagi-san than most people know. More than anyone knows. More than I know."

Sachiko deferred from winning. She knew that both she and Suguru made this happen. "I won't deny that he has the worst of faults, that he has what I hate the most in men. Yes, he is manipulative, he is almost cruel, but at the same time, he is sympathetic. He doesn't lie to me. I trust him."

The contrasts were appalling. The girl in pigtails declared in struggling menace. "You still love him."

Sachiko shuddered. She whispered, almost disoriented to breathe properly, "Do I appear as the worst woman you've ever met? Because I don't blame you at all. Not a bit." Then, she straightened her posture, ready to face all consequences. "As a matter of fact, I drove you into this. I've let you seen too much. Suguru and I have become disfigured before your eyes."

"I won't be surprised if you don't want me anymore."

Yumi never felt guilty in her entire life. She was confused about Suguru, and if they had the same conversation, it could turn out like this. It was her wishful thinking, that his grace of being honest to his friends would be extended to her. But Sachiko could read her, like a lover and sister should. And Sachiko understood. Because they were similar.

In silent tears, Yumi shouted before Sachiko caught her by her back to embrace and kiss her again. "I don't understand why I couldn't even become upset. Why couldn't I?!"

* * *

><p><em>Huitième<em>

She was inside Sachiko's bedroom, right after the doctor was dismissed after the general check-up on the Ogasawara heiress' health. The moment the door was closed and locked, Yumi ran to Sachiko's bed and took her lips in a languid kiss.

All was said and done. Sachiko wanted Yumi to hold her hand. Kashiwagi might have known her all her life, but it was Yumi who she wanted to be with when she was weak like this. Sachiko gave her assurance but it did not erase the fact that when Suguru came into Sachiko's rescue, his face soften and his arms sturdied—his strength was more than enough to carry Sachiko. His face showed more than concern that a brother would show. When he noticed Yumi watching him, he entrusted Sachiko to the younger girl, without hesitation, without jealousy. He just demonstrated how to be selfless.

Weren't they competing for Sachiko's love?

Were they really?

Because after Kashiwagi drove Yuuki and Yumi back home after a long day in the amusement park, after Yuuki gave him a glare as he strode into the doors when Yumi wanted to talk to Kashiwagi alone, and after their heated discussion about jealousy, types of love and _insurance,_ Yumi found Kashiwagi's teasing about not minding to be Yumi's _fiancé_ not a fucking joke. He intended to get into Yumi's pants. Just as she thought that she could imagine him going down on her, eating her, like Sachiko have done gladly.

* * *

><p><em>Neuvième*<em>

"Are you prepared to accept her?"

Yumi was astonished at the question. It was a question related to Touko, but the spotlight was immediately shared with Sachiko. Everything was clouded to hide secrets, to keep them at bay from prying, questioning eyes. Even Yumi, who had nothing to conceal before, had troubles keeping the act that nothing about Suguru would rattle her.

Suguru tore off his sunglasses. Then he turned off the engine of his sports car and slumped his shoulders to his cushioned seat. Whatever he knew, his sadness emanated in his tired features. Before Yumi could stop herself, she reached out beyond the window of the car. The urge to comfort him got the best of her. Alarmed, she retreived it and settled her hand at the frame instead.

"I . . ."

There was too much to consider—accepting herself, Touko, Sachiko, and even Suguru. If it were just a small matter, Suguru would not be as greatly affected, as he would show. If Suguru prefered to keep his feelings for himself, then the exposure of his distress was just a fraction of his emotions inside. He must have been restraining himself.

"For your sake, and for Touko's sake, think about it once more before asking me." He said as he looked at "If I'm asked again, I'll answer you."

She watched his car sped away. But she felt his concern for Touko still saturated from where he left. His concern for his cousin had blown her tremendously she felt so little compared to him. Even though they were just cousins, he understood Touko as any loving brother would.

Sachiko had been right. He was very perceptive.

* * *

><p><em>Dixième*<em>

"You love Yumi, don't you?"

Kashiwagi made a comical face as he objected and shook his head. "What are you saying? I . . ." Suguru stiffed mid-sentence.

"I see. I'm sorry." Sachiko looked away from him as she muttered her apology.

It had been all too peculiar to see Suguru denied his feelings for Yumi in front of her. She could never remember the boy reluctant to tell her the truth, no matter how hurting, how small or great it was. He had nothing to hide from her, as well as she from him. There was no point in lying. Many a reason was possible for his unwillingness to deny his feelings, but somehow, he became much simpler to understand. Looking at his point of view, she knew.

He stopped playing the game. Their game. She had stopped long ago, when Yumi and she became lovers. He stopped playing when he realized he became attached to Sachiko's lover more than he wanted. He frowned. "I know. I should have laughed and said, 'Yumi-chan's a good child, so I love her.'"

Yumi was not a plaything, a bet. Yumi loved Touko and accepted her regardless of Touko's past and insecurities. Just this effort for Touko was enough for Suguru to surrender.

Sachiko could not laugh at him. "Something like that. I may have not understood you in the past, but recently, I began to understand things."

It was a momentous revelation in a very inappropriate location such as a washroom in the Ogasawara mansion.

Neither of them could taunt the other. This was supposedly Sachiko's triumph over their little teasing about that peculiar pigtailed girl named Fukuzawa Yumi, but she felt she did not deserve even an ounce of Yumi's affections.

Yumi understood Sachiko and Suguru's closeness . . . far more than Sachiko ever expected of her.

He broke the silence with a half-baked joke. "If you have to put my love on a balance, I love you far more than Yumi-chan." His face showed he did not even like what he was saying.

"It's a different type of love, right?"

"Yes, you sure are smart, Sa-chan."

The conversation sounded so foul he gritted his teeth. "I should be going. If we stay in the restroom for too long, even Oba-sama will have strange thoughts."

Sachiko took his hand, just to make sure if everything that happened here—his distaste of their conversation tonight (he enjoyed them before), his failed confidence (he executed it perfectly before)—were all truths. When she felt his hand cold and shaking lightly, she knew he was afraid of his change.

He was afraid because he was not in control anymore.

Sachiko looked for an excuse just so not to embarrass Suguru. Even though they were all alone. "Wait. You forgot to wash your hands."

* * *

><p><em>Èpilogue<em>

Sachiko's room has large windows, but seldom had its curtains been opened completely. On Sachiko's bed, Yumi was lying on her stomach, her lithe back exposed up to the cleavage of her buttocks. The sheen of sweat present hours ago had evaporated, minuscule hairs gently rising. The owner of the bed was standing before the tall windows, gazing at the cloudless, star-studded sky, wearing nothing but her skin. She did not bother covering.

She had received her diploma, and that weekend, she wanted nothing but to be with Yumi. In this very place she considered her home. The size of the summerhouse did not match the Ogasawara estate, but she can breathe easier here. Hallways and staircases may be smaller and narrower, but she was not suffocated. They had the house by themselves. Not even the housekeeper took her time to leave them at peace.

It was too silent that even the smooth revving of a car could be very loud, that Yumi shifted in her sleep when Suguru's red sports car parked beside Sachiko's black sedan. When Suguru got out, he immediately looked up to the lightless window and smiled warmly at the sight of a nude Sachiko bathing in the blue moonlight.

He knew the way: the spare key (beneath a pot of cactus before the porch), Sachiko's room, closet, bed. He deposited his suitcase beside it, and grazed his eyes at Yumi's naked backside. Sachiko remained by the window, watching Suguru sat beside Yumi, as he smoothed her nape and kissed it gently. Yumi stirred and turned her back to the bed, just so she could look up to the man, who combed her bangs away from her forehead and leaned down again to kiss her there. It trailed downwards—to her cheek, then on her opened mouth.

Sachiko drew to the bed, and burried herself beneath the thick covers. Tonight would be Yumi's first time with a man, as well as Sachiko's. Yet, she contented herself to watch for now, to look at Suguru from a different angle . . . with her woman. Perhaps he could never bestow such unique, longing scrutiny to Sachiko as he would for Yumi, but at least Sachiko had witnessed it . . . as well as Yumi's wonderment when she reached with her hand and carressed Suguru's cheek.

It was the same as Sachiko's severe honesty to Suguru, or Suguru's complete understanding of Sachiko, or Yumi's exalted worship and adoration for Sachiko.

Or Suguru and Sachiko's warped, incomparable, ceaseless desire for Yumi.

And the other way around.

Yumi broke the kiss and look away to search for Sachiko's eyes, but the latter just closed their lids to settle the girl's doubts. Then, Yumi gave in to her instinct, and unfastened the buttons of Suguru's crisp shirt.

As Sachiko watched Yumi and Suguru opened their mouths to lap each other, she thought of the things that made her agree with this arrangement. Was she exploiting Yumi? She felt that's she was as her fluids trickled between her legs. Sachiko ran one hand from her breasts towards her sex. When Kashiwagi was taking a nipple between his lips, he held onto Sachiko's waist and pulled her to them, and Yumi kissed Sachiko as she kneed her breasts with her other hand, as Suguru had been doing with his mouth. When Sachiko found that Suguru was still clothed, "Yumi, let's take his clothes off."

They both pulled him up from the bed. While Sachiko was at Suguru's back, unfastening the cuffs and pulling the shirt away from his arms in gentle sweeps, Yumi was pulling down his pants to his feet. He disregarded it away. When he looked down at Yumi, he did not like the idea of her kneeling. Sachiko, on the other hand, had put her arms around him from the back—her large breasts warming him—as they both looked down on Yumi, who was now stroking Suguru's sex, preparing to take him to her mouth—

He doesn't like it. Yumi upon her knees as she stroke him . . . _no_. Instead, he reached his arms to her and placed his hand on her chin, signaling her to stand up. Yumi's eyes showed confusion, but then he said, "On the bed, Yumi, not here."

Yumi knew what he was trying to say, yet she did not mind. Sachiko was confused too; there was nothing wrong with a woman on her knees to pleasure a man. Both women had done this to each other—they had no qualms to please this way—yet, Suguru was different. In understanding, Yumi grinned at Sachiko and the latter unlatched her hold of Suguru. Yumi walked near him and pushed him to the bed. She whispered, "Your efforts are very chivalrous, Suguru, but you've seen us before, haven't you? There's nothing awkward among us anymore."

He could not even discern why he felt so shy. What was he thinking that even though he knew everything that could happen in this bed, he seemed so hesitant to act it out? Why was it that he was so concerned about a deed that could account to a corresponding meaning? Like Yumi getting on her knees. Isn't that a bit . . . domineering in his part? And submissive in hers?

He was on his back as he found Yumi and Sachiko looking at him. Sachiko jested, "What's wrong, Sugu-chan? Why do you act like a virgin now?" He frowned, and he took the challenge, grabbing Sachiko's head and looked at her face. Sachiko was surprised at the gesture, yet she produced a faint smile, telling him that she understood. "You never looked at my face this close before," she whispered, no jesting in her voice.

Then, he kissed her hungrily in the mouth. He never did that before—kissing her fully.

Yumi was baffled of the words Sachiko had said. When Suguru's lips were lowering from her mouth to her bobbing breasts, Sachiko asked to Yumi in a whimper, "Did he ever looked to your face that close?"

Yumi said, remembering the day she bruised his cheek, "Yes, he did."

Sachiko smiled proudly at Yumi, which further baffled the girl until Sachiko commanded, "Take him, Yumi."

She did not said another word until she kneeled on the mattress and between Suguru's opened legs to grab-hold the base of his penis, and grazed her tongue from the underside to its crown. In a very deliberately slow manner. What she got was a cry from him. For Yumi, such reaction was already a leap of achievement, considering that this was her first time with handling one.

Sachiko chuckled at it. Her hands were holding the headrest of the bed as she hovered her face down to look at his reactions. He stopped attending on Sachiko's breasts the moment Yumi had been active down there. He looked up at Sachiko's face.

"I cannot have her just watching." Sachiko said.

He imagined that this was Sachiko alone—the mouth that had been eating him was Sachiko's core, but he couldn't. In his mind, he was still in the middle of doubting his feelings for his fiance's lover, and as he looked at Sachiko, who was watching his every reaction, he felt Sachiko's wet sex and the weight of her on his waist. Sachiko ground her soaking labia against his lower stomach, wetting him in the process. She emphasized, "I am _here_, Suguru," as she thrusted. "But it's _she_ who worships you now."

He captured Sachiko's nipple, as his way of apologizing.

He wanted to give in. He felt Yumi's moist mouth from his shaft to the rest of his body. Yumi was _there. She is there . . ._

He cried as he closed his eyes. He was trying all his might just so he could not bust off. He remembered the first time he saw Yumi claimed Sachiko's cunt before him—the way Sachiko was sprawled onto the bed, her thighs wide open and enervated, as Yumi tongued her the way he never did. He was stunned at how Sachiko gave in so quickly to Yumi's maneuvers . . . this was the reason: her mouth.

Before he lost himself, he made Yumi stop and let Sachiko slouch on the pillow-covered headboard of the bed. He turned to Yumi, and let her lie on her back above Sachiko, easing herself just so her weight would not aggraviate her grande souer. He said, "Sachiko, hold her."

When she did, Suguru plunged his tongue to Yumi's labia.

Yumi hands were immediately on Suguru's hair. Sachiko was leaving wet trails on Yumi's nape and shoulders, as she was pinching Yumi's nipples. She gently moved his upper torso to the side to kiss Sachiko. The latter tasted not only Yumi, but Suguru too.

However, in his mind, was this vengeage, what he was feeling for Sachiko?

He wanted to have Yumi for the longest time. He had touched her nowhere until this night. Even though it was so wrong to intrude into their own world, Sachiko allowed him. Yumi allowed him. All of them knew that this moment came from their selfish desires, but it seemed fine for the three of them. They seemed to give their all, to be selfless, yet at the same time, they all felt that they were just doing this for their own satisfaction.

But when he moved his tongue away and replaced it with his sex, she looked at both women kissing each other. Sachiko was already sitting, her head in position so that she could kiss Yumi's face anywere she liked. Her hands were still on Yumi's breasts. Suddenly they stopped, as if there was something missing. When Yumi looked at Kashiwagi, she said, albeit in a shy voice, "Suguru, why did you stop?"

She reached her arms to Suguru, and in turn, he moved closer as she said, "C-come here."

He positioned his penis to Yumi's entrance, and there, slowly, he thrusted, trying not to hurt Yumi, she felt so warm. Yumi was biting his shoulder, as he looked up to control himself from moving. Sachiko's face was getting near, and the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was Sachiko's swollen, red mouth.

When Sachiko pulled away, she said him, "Don't stop now, Suguru." Thus, he gently moved his hips away from Yumi's, and thrusted again. As they silently arranged the rhythm, Yumi was already loud with her whimpers and moans.

He could not even ask if he were hurting her. He continued his movements until he felt Yumi bucking uncontrolably, and he kept on with his pace until Sachiko smiled mischievously as she witnessed her own Yumi cried as her orgasm consumed her.

He was not done; he won't be done until all of them are satisfied. Sachiko was surprised when she felt Yumi's weight gone and hands on her waist were leading her sex to him. Like how he did it with Yumi, he would do the same for Sachiko. He thrusted into Sachiko as soon as Yumi found her ground. Yumi drifted her core to Sachiko's mouth, as she settled her knees on the sides of Sachiko's lying form and encircled Suguru's neck with her arms. She met his kiss, as she felt Sachiko's tongue circling her clitoris, as Suguru matched the thrust of his hips with the probing of his tongue to Yumi's sucking mouth.

It would go on and on and on. They might find new ways to explore; with three of them, it wouldn't be so hard to feed each other's selfishness.

Perhaps _three_ is a crowd.

But, no matter. The bed was large enough.

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><p><em>END<em>

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><p>* The conversations in <em>Neuvième<em>and _Dixième_were ripped off from (Maria-sama Ga Miteru, Fourth Season) episodes 6 and 10, respectively. I changed the way they acted during those two different scenes.

**A/N:** I would like to thank CelticX and Sim-Sim2 for being the betas for the unabridged version. This has been a good 8,500-word experience, and I could have not published this without your encouragement and interest. After long conversations, the product of our efforts is now here. For all misspelled words, incorrect grammar . . . they are all my fault.

Ah, readers, don't forget to review!


	11. Yoshino and Yuuki

**A/N:** Hi, this one-shot series is definitely back, with new inspiration. This story, however, is not related to the past chapters (each one is independent), and was a product of fangirling tendencies that were cultivated in such a short time. Well, this was requested, so as requests necessitate, they could either be approved or rejected. Who am I to reject an opportunity? Bleeeeh. Therefore, here it is, _Anon_, the product.

Warning: This story does not coincide with the specific events that happened in MSGM and OSMM light novels. Neither is it related to the past chapters.

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><p><strong>HOW THEY WISH IT WAS RAINING<strong>

_-TheSilentReader-_

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><p>CHAPTER 10: Yoshino and Yuuki<p>

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><p><strong>Observations<strong>

Yoshino could specifically remember that Yumi gave Yoshino her home number when they became friends, after (1) Yumi was later inducted as Rosa Chinensis en bouton and when (2) she was able to support the Yellow bouton's protégé on her surgery. Yumi wanted to share to her newfound friend that _friends_ should talk all the time, and Yoshino had stood silent, taking Yumi's words all inside her head, because she thought that Yumi was the closest thing to a person whose whole attention was not just focused on her family. Many are like _that_, but not many were actually as harmless and as interesting as she was. That fascinates Yoshino.

Yoshino was imagined that she was utterly repressed.

Yeah, Yoshino, the first year student who happened to be voted as the model petite souer with Rei-sama as her counterpart as , was quite sure that nothing exists in her world except her cousin. She knew everything about Rei that she knew the start of Rei-chan's period every month.

That's why it was a shock to her that the person who answered the phone at the Fukuzawa residence was a boy, whose voice was a little perky for a fifteen-year old, as Yumi later claimed his age. _Boy_. "Who answered the phone, Yumi-san?" She questioned her friend a millisecond after Yumi breathed a greeting on the telephone's receiver.

"My brother," Yumi said absently; her mouth on autopilot.

"Brother? You have a brother?"

Yumi jolted from her semi-stupor as she gathered her thoughts to ask Yoshino (she was a bit surprised by the inquiry): "Uh, um, yeah? Is . . . that a problem?"

_Not at all_. Yoshino told that to herself, as she pounded her head to the hard wood of her study table with a small thud, just to remind herself of how daft she was in choosing her words. Did Yumi find the question offensive? Their friendship was still new; Yoshino has the tendency to be misunderstood. She asked herself in a panicked speed, because _if_ she had been in Yumi's shoes (and Rei happened to be like Yumi's bother—an immediate relative), she would be taken aback by the question that has an undesirable subtext. But Yumi was readable even though distance and telephone connection separate their situation from a very personal conversation; therefore, Yoshino assumed that no harm was done.

It's just that, it is just hard to imagine that Yumi has a brother. Who was also a first year. Yumi's more like _the lone child of the family_, like Yoshino. Therefore, with the speed of deduction Yoshino was doing while Yumi laughed on the phone, she concluded that Fukuzawa Yuuki was her fraternal twin. "Oh, nothing like that," Yumi corrected, "He's ten months younger than me. So, you see, I'm an Onee-san." Yumi giggled.

Yoshino couldn't imagine that scenario.

She could imagine Yumi to have siblings, but she never appeared to be the oldest one.

For her, Yumi was ever the obedient, cheerful flower of an _imouto_.

But then, again, something in her wanted to remember _something_.

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><p>The first time he actually <em>saw<em> Shimazu Yoshino was when he went to the cultural festivities as per invitation of her older sister. The family was given enough tickets to see his sister's performance in _Cinderella_, but that was not the case. Even without his sister's help, he could still able to attend the festival with the help of his sempai, Kashiwagi Suguru. He was the Prince Charming (obviously), and Yuuki was needed as his responsibility to assist him with his sempai's duties (obviously), but he needed not to let Yumi know that (obviously) because he knew Yumi doesn't like his sempai that much (well, not really obvious).

He was able to dodge his older sister, but he could not dodge everyone in the Yamayurikai. Doing that was too impossible a feat. After all, he was here to assist the President of Hanadera, even though he still didn't understand Kashiwagi-san's reasons for liking him.

"You remind me of someone."

A girl with black, long, twin braided hair commented weakly beside him as he looked for the remaining accessories for his sempai's costume in a box. He was shocked at the looming voice, but he tried to calm himself. He looked at her curiously, by which her manner of "letting herself be seen" to him was contradictory to what he assumed her to be: _frail_. But she was not as frail as she looked. Her peculiar and surprising introduction gave her away.

It wasn't as if he couldn't blame his own harsh judgment for the girl; he, too, was ordinary enough in a sea of high-class male students of Hanadera—too ordinary, in fact, but his batchmates regarded him well, somehow—but this girl, gentle she appeared, should not be scaring him that way, even though he was in the Rose mansion (obviously), he was in this girl's teritorry (assumingly obvious, her words advised him that she belonged to the Yamayurikai), and that she made it seem to appear that he was in the wrong place (obviously, something in this building made him feel he intruded far too much).

But he never dared to mention that he was Yumi's sister, just for the sake of doing his job, because he wouldn't want to be scrutinized by her. He assumed that Yumi and this girl knew each other. Yumi was working for the council's school play, it seemed, because (1) she mentioned Kashiwagi's name one breakfast morning, just in time of Kashiwagi's absences in the council meetings, when in fact, he was on the other side of the hill, Kashiwagi being _Kashiwagi_, (2) she was very late coming home, and (3) she was too loud when she memorized her lines rigoriously in the privacy of her bedroom.

Just the sharpness of her probing eyes was enough for him to discern that this girl notices too much. He just wanted to be here, _in cognito._ Thus, he replied vaguely, "I'm here for Kashiwagi-sama's accessories. Are you from the student council?" omitting the term:_Yamayurikai_.

"Yes. The accessories are here."

She gave him the articles that he wanted, right away. She did not bother rummaging the whole box to get what he needed; it was just glaringly _obvious_ that he was Kashiwagi-sempai's assistant because of (1) he wore a Hanadera uniform, (2) he dared to come in the Rose Mansion, which no one dared, and (3) he was a first year, as indicated by the Roman numeral on his uniform's collar. She was sharp that she knew what he wanted just by looking at him.

She couldn't deduce though, who was the person he reminded her with.

He didn't give his name; she didn't give hers, either. "Thanks," he said. He bowed for her efforts.

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><p>When Yoshino discovered that Yumi has a little brother in that telephone call, she immediately remembered that time in the Rose Mansion about the boy who asked her for the Hanadera President's accessories. It wasn't as if there was a nagging feeling of <em>solving<em> of who he reminded her of, but the idea just came to her like a wave of unwanted, dusty wind. But she wasn't even sure that _that _boy who wore a Hanadera uniform having a Roman numeral "I" on the collar and came into the mansion without even blinking twice, was the same boy who Yumi's mother once nurtured inside her belly a month after she gave birth to her.

Hence, the sorting out of information stored in her brain commenced as if she was mentally producing the monotonic sounds in Morse Code,while she realized that that _boy _reminded her of _Yumi_: the vibrant hue of chocolate brown of their hair and eyes, the similar shape of their eyes and faces, their unruly and spiky fringes, their bone structure, their general ordinary-ness. Her deduction wasn't a praise or insult; they were just _observations_.

Just as she put the phone down gently after talking with Yumi—just like what friends normally do—she added one thing in her cerebral list of what made Yumi and, er, Yuuki different from each other aside from their sex and age: his eyes were much sharper than hers.

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><p>He found out that her name was <em>Yoshino<em> when he asked her sister to let go of the telephone line that night (it was his turn to use it), because he accidentally heard them talking when he lift the speaker to his ears when he was about to dial Kobayashi's number.

He quickly put the phone down, as if hearing girls talk was somewhat poisonous for his hearing system and psychological balance. But he came up with the conclusion that everyone has the same problems, it seemed, because the third years are now graduating, and everyone in the lower grades needed to endow a special tribute for their pleasant parting. Yumi was agitated while she talked to Yoshino, while the latter seemed to be thinking.

And when Yumi asked him of something to entertain the Roses, he could have sworn that everything that was happening to their lives in their separate schools was similar, if not, parallel. He did this party dance before—forced, he lividly remembered—and now Yumi was going to do that same. He gave his all in teaching her the dance, because, in turn, her performance would also reflect his confidence in teaching. But Yumi seemed to be doing at the entertainment department very well; how could he not commend Yumi for that?

"Yuuki is teaching me the loach dance." He heard her sister on the phone.

He gulped. He forgot that that girl—er, Yoshino—also belonged in the student council with Yumi. His sister told him that the performance was for the Roses. What would she think while she watched Yumi dance?

When he thought that he really didn't want to eavesdrop in the conversation, it was actually ten seconds before he realized what he was really doing.

Because he observed he could actually _hear_ Yoshino-san—that's what her sister called her—_think_. He could actually imagine her concentrated face and focused sharp eyes.

* * *

><p>Maybe their similarities were more prominent before than now. The second time Yumi's brother met Shimazu Yoshino, it was when Ogasawara Sachiko had a fainting spell in the middle of the paved road near the front gate of Lillian Academy because of two things: (1) the hot weather, and (2) the number of unknown men blocking her pathway.<p>

He wanted to help. But he didn't.

He was the first person in the Hanadera group that rushed to Yumi's aid as she helped her poor Onee-sama from kissing the ground she usually walked on. Thank heavens for Rei-sama, the tall woman with short dark blond hair, that he won't be the one holding Sachiko-sama. He couldn't say this, but he was critical about human relations:

(1) Yumi would fight tooth, nail, special designation as _Rosa Chinensis en bouton petite soeur, _and seniority as his biological _older_ sister to be the _first_ to offer health and strength to the poor woman.

Another: (2) everyone knows how sensitive Sachiko was with men (subsection 1, he's _one_; and subsection 2: he's definitely _not_ immune to Sachiko-sama's feminine appeal, therefore not trusting himself to stop from _stopping_ all human faculties once he touched her).

Last but not the least; it is never good to have bad blood with your council. If he proceeded: (3) his counterparts at Hanadera would rip his balls for being too unassumingly close to the Lillian Princess (they should have done that instead of him; _hopeless bastards_, he thought wryly), which he added two more subsections to this number. Subsection 1: The straight men will rip his balls off for being the first to touch her, rendering him a sly bastard, and subsection 2: Alice will also rip his balls off for doing something that Alice considered _sacrilegious_ to his self-proclaimed _Onee-sama_, rendering him a sly bastard.

Which he could _never, ever, ever_ think of doing.

It was when the same girl—Yoshino-san, he presumed—looked at him with entertained eyes, and told him, "Everything's going to be fine. Rei-chan has her now."

She looked at him with all-knowing eyes, hypnotic and intelligent, and he began to generate anxiety that she somehow knew what he was thinking all that time. He became intimidated at the thought, but how could he just react, when she say those words with a seer-like certainty, like she has a long beard and a long, pointy ears and holding a longer staff and donning a much acre-long white robe, predicting your future?

(You shall not pass!)

"Uhm, er, yeah. I think so too."

Add that smirk that she produced after his failure to produce proper sentence. This is just beneath his intelligence.

"I think she'll be fine if we could just have a proper meeting later, in a more comfortable room." Yoshino said to everyone who was still trying to fan Sachiko-sama with anything that she could scour from her bookbag.

He stood there staring at her with equal regard on her quick decision-making, and as the current Student Council President of Hanadera Academy for Boys, he agreed, but in a much more dignified manner, "I am sure we could arrange something for your convenience."

When the other Roses were concerned with the wilted Red Rose, Yuuki took a hold to the words of the Yellow bouton who stepped up to handle the problem. It was as if an informal recognition was held with their gazes, because that's what leaders do: they communicate even by just _looking._

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><p>The third time Yoshino met Fukuzawa Yuuki was the day that: (1) Alice-kun, the secretary of the Hanadera student council, had relentlessly embraced Ogasawara Sachiko as he cried his heart out for an onee-sama like her; (2) Yumi had firstly exhibited her possessiveness openly for her Onee-sama, which is what <em>any<em> petite soeur would do if somebody else tried to _steal_ her grande soeur away; and (3) Yuuki-san finally announced that he was the new Hanadera President.

Yoshino wasn't even surprised.

She noticed his inducted superiority the moment Yumi's brother suggested to them about securing an appointment with the revered Roses, in the midst of Sachiko's fainting spell weeks ago. He was the one who gave a suggestion, and while his staff remained quiet, they agreed to him without even talking to them. The tall twins who, even at first glance, were much seniors to Yuuki, just remained quiet as they hear his suggestion. They exhibited subordination even though they were his seniors. Another was the secretary, Alice, and his closeness to Yuuki-san every time they appear for meetings, proved that Alice was in tuned with his duties, noting his President's words. And Kobayashi and Magane were very much enjoying being his leutenants.

It was quite amazing how he seemed to hold his council firmly with his leadership, and Yoshino noticed it with one look when they went inside the conference room and saw them sitting uniformly in one line.

She also noticed that they sat by age. Yuuki was at the farthest from the Yakushiji twins, and he was sitting across Yamayurikai's youngest (Noriko), which decidedly concludes that the President was the youngest of the Hanadera Council.

That realization seemed to pique her interest more for Yumi's brother who had been the person from the Hanadera to have the longest presentation of their proposals. Her deductions being proven hint after hint by just observing him, but when she realized that she became too smug to think that she had figured who the Hanadera President was even before Kobayashi-san jokingly suggested a guessing game, a thought instantly struck her—she had been thinking about this boy entirely too much.

She being struck with that thought that _she had been thinking about that boy entirely too much_ was the moment Yuuki smiled confidently at the Yamayurikai crowd after he introduced himself once more (as the Hanadera President) and bowed.

Yumi, who was still gaping and had her jaw hanging dangerously, couldn't get over the fact that his brother had taken a much more nerve-wrecking responsibility and the fact that he kept that from her. Yoshino and Yumi looked at Shimako, who was quite appreciative of the entertainment Yumi was indulging the group (by being Yuuki's older sister, _pretty much_), and commented that Yuuki was already with Shimako's level, only that Yuuki doesn't share his power with another president, unlike with the Lillian council's system.

Shimako spoke in her angelic, soft voice, "His occupation as the President is harder than my role as the Rosa Gigantea." Shimako seldom express her thoughts unless required, and with her sudden vocalization, Yoshino noticed Shimako's high regard for that boy with brown, spiky hair, who happened to be Yumi's brother.

Rei voice was the first to snap Yoshino off her wandering thoughts with the usual, "Are you all right, Yoshino?" and answered her with the usual absent "no" that made Rei-chan prod more. She teased Yoshino about thinking too much, and when Yoshino haughtily denied it (just for the sake of playfight), Rei mentioned that she was still looking at the Fukuzawa siblings who walked uniformly from the gates of Lillian Academy. Rei mentioned that they appeared and felt so similar.

"No, not really." She blankly said, and then walked to the direction of their homes.

Rei just shrugged, knowing that Yoshino was right, because Yoshino had sorted out her thoughts that had resulted to a declared deduction.

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><p>In a sense, it's better to watch every Hanadera student grapple their way to hordes of competition from up the scaffold than beside it, the fact that Yoshino couldn't see the whole carnage of limbs and bodies just for the sake of being near (at least six feet) the Roses. Yoshino huffed in boredom as she watched Yumi there, up on the scaffold, guarding her onee-sama in case Sachiko-sama would switch auto-pilot and jump off from her seat and run away like a madman because of restlessness.<p>

Yoshino wished she's up the scaffold with Rei to watch men below her; at least, she had something funny and sadistic to watch. But, as she stretched her legs to ease their tension, she noticed that _both_ Fukuzawa siblings were there, guarding the Ice Princess.

Yuuki-san, she called him, was smirking at every wrong answer the competitors had given, forcing them to slide down once more and repeat the grueling process. Yumi doesn't wear that smirk, she noted. She wished that she could hear every question—what were those that made Yuuki-san enjoy this so much? Were they as mundane as trivia? Or more on the academic side? Because he was the one who made the questions.

When the Hanadera President himself guided them to the school gates and bid them farewell and thanks for the Yamayurikai's efforts, he was lively with the rest of the members while Yumi and Sachiko were steps behind them, seemingly needed to be private as much as possible because of the little public display of emotions a while ago.

At that time, he appeared to be bottling his rage as marched to the center of commotion, and when he appeared before Panda and a distressed Sachiko (hugging each other), his rage transformed into an expression of relief. He even unconsciously but drammatically breathed out and smiled wildly as he watched Panda hugged the distressed Sachiko tighter. Yoshino noticed that the transition of his expressions were not in bursts of instants like Yumi, but gradual in evolution. It was as if his brain was slowly thinking, but then Yoshino read that as how he internalize and process thoughts—deliberate and measured—and they reflect on his face.

He must know something why Sachiko-sama was hugging the unknown Panda (_was that because it was kind to Yumi before, giving her candy and all that ruffling of hair? _Yoshino thought sarcastically), that even Yoshino couldn't guess the person in the bloated costume until Kashiwagi-san (to her surprise) appeared and offed Panda's head with one swift pull, and revealed Yumi's face, wet with culmination of sweat and tears.

The Roses conveyed their enjoyment in doing their duty as representatives of the Lillian Academy, the boutons behind them, loyal leutenants they were. But Yoshino couldn't see the President's expression now, because Rei was ever so tall and that the sun was behind Yuuki-san, rendering her vision of him just a silhouette.

She hates it when she couldn't see _and_ read faces. More and more like with Eriko-sama in a nutshell: unreadable and unpredictable. It's awful. If only that the school gates didn't face the west that late afternoon, if only that Rei's back wasn't blocking her view, she could have seen the difference of Yuuki-san's smile from Yumi's.

It came to her that she liked spotting out differences on the Fukuzawa siblings, only that she was more invested with the brother, because she didn't see him that much, unlike her classmate Yumi, from the Pine class, same as hers.

* * *

><p>The first thing that came in his mind as he read the script of Torikaebaya Monogatari given by Yumi that night: he wondered how long Yoshino's hair was. That thought pattern had nestled in his brain when he realized that the play was set on the ancient time, hence the letting-the-hair-down. No maiden wore her hair in a tight bun that time. Thusly: Yuuki already observed that Yoshino-san's braids fall until the small of her back, and given that they were braided, at least he could assume that the length of hair would increase by about a fifth, if he were to solve the original hair length. It would much very long then, he mused, almost reaching the lower curves of Yoshino-san's butt. He removed a trivial realization of his sister's friend in haste. But then, he wondered how she'd look on their next joint meeting, where the all actors for the play would be wearing their costumes as a commemoration for a good partnership for both schools' councils.<p>

But the a point in the length of hair nearest the head would coil more acutely than another point farthest from the head, so the length hair (as a bundle) decreased its length as the end point moves away from the point of reference . . . no. He must not think of her too—of her _hair _too much.

It's just bloody hair.

But he gaped the day when he saw her walked into the room on her kimono on, and he gaped because his hypothesis was wrong: her hair reached the part before the swell of her buttocks. Her hair when braided only coiled less than what he assumed, and that he wrongly calculated it because of one simple mistake: his mind assumed that she has her whole hair braided, and not into two. That makes the braid less coiled. But he knew that she has two braids, but his mistake was treating that a full braid has the same coiling as when the full hair is split to two and braided . . . .

He was gaping at her, when her hair was let loose and she was in a kimono so heavy because of its layers and layers. It was shiny, that black, black length of hair. How could that even be so naturally straight, when all the time she had it in braids? Doesn't that curl the hair? Doesn't tying it all the time makes it (that long) susceptible to breakage? Yumi said that one time after she had her hair trimmed.

He wondered and wondered, and all the time he was staring at her long, black hair, as it swayed and swayed. He wondered how it felt with his fingertips; he wondered how long how he could just stop staring at it.

Then, he realized that he had to wear a black wig as long as Yoshino's hair when Sachiko-sama had thought of something much more interesting. Actors playing women and actresses playing men. Everyone stared at Sachiko's audacity. Touko-san gleamed because this was her first male part; Alice-kun was the same when for the first time, Alice will literally and liberately be _Alice_. Yuuki got what he wished—to touch a long, black hair—but it was not Yoshino's; it was a wig plastered on his head, length until his lower back.

He wondered again, why Yoshino wasn't bothered of how heavy butt-long hair was.

* * *

><p>When everyone wondered how the same Yuuki-san and Yumi-san if they were to put the same clothes together (first, in the Hanadera festival; second, in the Torikaebaya Monogatari), Yoshino thought of the things that differs the brother from the sister. All the time that when she saw him in the maiden's costume, her eyes scanned how different he <em>looked<em> from Yumi—he was muscular, that the thickness of the fabric of layers and layers of kimono couldn't hide the sharp contours of his shoulders and neck, that his chest were broader than Yumi's soft and slim (and admittedly, plump) one.

He was uncomfortable though, when he touched his new wig from the base to the tips, as if the general heaviness of it was the only puzzling burden of the universe. She thought those as he circled awkwardly and lifted his arms to test the weight of the sleeves. It was as if he couldn't believe he was wearing a noblewoman's kimono. She bet that he was just relieved that the change of clothes did not go all through the underpants. But, she observed that he wasn't aware that he showed his discomfort like an eyesore, that when the whole endeavour was finished, he loosened the lapels of his kimono revealing the full length of his neck, the lines of his collarbone, and half the span of his shoulders and his upper pectorals. Then, he disappeared from the door of the room to change his clothes.

Taking a peak at his skin was just an accident, she convinced herself.

* * *

><p>Her hair was in a bun and was secured in her headdress; now, her neck was exposed. The entire delicate cylinder of her neck became his subject for observation, but he tried not to be so <em>obvious <em>about it. He tried not to observe too much. He focused more on his script, the parts that he initially didn't even bother to memorize before.

He was so prepared as the lead male character.

* * *

><p>"Damn, this wig is so heavy."<p>

"Kobayashi-san, of course it's _heavy_."

"How does Yoshino-san, Sachiko-san and Shimako-san handle this thing, I really don't know. Especially Yoshino-san. Her hair . . ."

"I wonder how it felt if I touch . . ."

"What?"

"What."

"What're you sayin', Yukichi?"

"'What am I saying?': _go on with your lines, Kobayashi_."

* * *

><p>The next meeting, Yoshino noticed that he memorized all his lines. He took little peaks in his own script, and he was almost as good as Touko-chan (as expected; she is from the Drama Club) and Alice-kun (as expected; he loves being a woman).<p>

He was just looking at her hair longer than usual. She looked away in annoyance.

She hoped, slight annoyance creeping at her, to punish herself for wishing Yuuki-san wasn't anything like that.

* * *

><p>The only time they could both look at the other was the time that they were in a scene, although not together. Their scenes together were few, and it was more of a comedy than anything they imagined of a scene of them together. But they, separately, unknowingly from each other, wanted to just to stare through the other's eyes to see if he or she could read the other through them. They would consider it as a challenge—the last person to look away from the other's eyes would win. But of course, it never happened, not when they were totally engrossed with the play.<p>

And not when they try not to be alone together.

* * *

><p>When she served a cup of tea, he could smell her cologne as she bent a little from behind to his side to settle the cup and saucer in front of him. He tried not to turn to its direction, and just focused on the steam that danced like a snake being charmed from its box.<p>

But he was very much distracted by a braid of her hair hanging dangerously on his shoulder. And wanted to release it from its tie.

* * *

><p>When he dropped and slouched to arrange his school shoes at the foyer of the auditorium, she caught a sight of the top view of the nape of his neck and his shoulders, watching them move very slightly as he placed his feet into them. She turned away quickly, and excused herself silently to get her own shoes from the shelf, and drop her leather shoes unceremonously to the ground to insert sluggishly her feet to them without any more tiring movement.<p>

But as she bent her head down, he stood gently and looked up. Their eyes met.

* * *

><p>"Good evening. Fukuzawa residence."<p>

"Um, hello. This is—"

"Yumi! Yoshino-san is on the phone!"

". . ."

"Oh, hello Yoshino-san—"

"Well, that was rude. Wait, how did he know. . . ?"

"Yoshino-san . . . is it something . . . I've said?"

* * *

><p>Neither wanted to be near each other, and wanted it that way until the festival ends. After that, everything should be easy. They won't see each other as frequent until that time comes. No more stupid observations.<p>

* * *

><p>When the play ended, the whole Hanadera council was relieved of their responsibilities, thus went separately to enjoy the festival until it last. Yuuki was alone, at the door of the storage room at the first floor of the Rose Mansion and just finished stuffing the rest of the boys' costumes to a single box. It was the least he could do, because he was the sole representative that the Hanadera was supposed to send to the Yamayurikai on their school festival, just like what Kashiwagi-sempai had done a year ago. Instead, the whole council was included.<p>

At least he was alone in the mansion, where it was much quieter than outside; the noise was muffled from within. Near the door of the storage room, he sat and enjoyed the cool floor, until another door bolted open from the outside, and revealed Yoshino-san.

Her hair was unbraided, and remained unadulterately straight, coating her back, much darker than the Lillian uniform she wore.

The look on her face was scrutinizing; her eyes appeared sharp but darker than before, just like the rest of her—her hair, her black, leather shoes, her pristine uniform. Her skin seemed to be . . . radiantly pale, but he wasn't sure if that was the appropriate phrase to describe it.

She asked solidly, "You want a cup of tea?"

He gulped.

* * *

><p>She felt tired after the whole play. Even though it was thoroughly enjoyable to play nobleman, it took a toll on her and she already felt fatigue, unlike others who were at the peak of their energy even this late afternoon. She was still recovering from her illness, but she couldn't wait to do <em>more<em>.

But she needed to rest. And to rest is to go to the Mansion, not to the Infirmary, because she wouldn't want to be much of a burden to the poor nurse. She has to enjoy the festival too—no, actually, that's not the reason. Yoshino just didn't want to go there; pride had her directed to the Rose Mansion. So, Rose Mansion it was.

But when she saw Yuuki-san sitting on the floor near the storage room, she stopped momentarily just to look at him, to validate if he was really there. His brown, spiky hair and fringe slicked back and slightly wet (he must have done that so the hair would not impede his comfort). He was wearing a white, collared shirt, the cuffs folded to his elbows, the two top buttons unfastened, and its hem tucked still underneath the black, leather belt and gray slacks. His gray shirt coat was beside him, the gold Roman numeral "II" pin fixed on its collar gleamed against its bleak background. His face and uncovered ears a little flushed.

He turned to her, looking surprised.

She would be lying to herself if she didn't found _him_ quite handsome that very moment, when he was ruffled and loose, and the white cloth covering his shoulders and arms was spread out that she could already distinguish lean but statuesque muscles underneath. She noted to herself, she should not be staring.

But she could not help not walking away either. Therefore, she asked, bravely, "You want a cup of tea?"

* * *

><p>The stairs creaked more loudly than before; they walked uniformly, step by step, gauging each other's rhythm. It was quieter in the second floor, and with Yoshino's hospitality, she opened the Biscuit door for him. He silently thanked her by closing it when she went inside.<p>

"Sit," she said.

"Should I be the one preparing tea? You look pale." He said when she proceeded to the counter.

She remained quiet, stating (obviously) that she didn't want him to help. He sat and remained mummed, until the steaming hot tea was served in front of him, and she sat opposite of him from across the table, and placed her own cup and saucer in front of her.

A vase filled with a bundle of _Rosa foetida_ bloomed between them.

* * *

><p>"Would you like to go out with me?"<p>

They both ask each other, simultaneously, after a lifetime of silence and an eternity of staring at each other's eyes, obscuring the _Rosa foetida _flowers to their peripheral view in the whole duration of their stare.

The tea was already lukewarm; they both felt it with their fingers at the body of their porcelain cup, but they didn't mentally deduced the exact length of time they were staring at each other by loosely calculating the process of heat transferred from the cup to the surroundings and deriving them with _x _as the time, like what they studied in their elementary Physics.

Does she like Physics? Or was he alone in that department?

But whatever the duration was, that's how long they looked at each other. But it didn't seem to matter.

She was the first to recover. "I always see you looking at me."

It looked like she was challenging him of who was the first to notice the other (the first lose), but she just said it because she just observed it. Nothing more.

He replied, "And I always see you looking at me, too."

That was also an observation. That was now settled.

"You were very rude the last time I called." She accused weakly.

"I'm sorry."

"Yet you instantly knew it was me."

"You have a distinctive voice."

Silence. They stopped talking again. Then, Yoshino was opened—then closed her mouth like a fish. It's as if she wanted something to ask him—

"Are you gay?"

"No." His response: abrupt, critical. Hypothesis countered, number 1, thought Yoshino.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course, I'm sure. Where did you get that idea?"

"When you're looking at my hair."

"Your . . . _hair_." He deadpanned. He did remember how long her hair was, but not that way. It's just an observation.

"I was observing you observing my hair, then I thought, no straight man would do that." She reasoned out.

"I like girls with long hair. _You_ have a long hair. You have the longest hair of all Yamayurikai members. So, I like you." He blushed. Hypothesis countered, number 2.

"And I'm a girl." Then, an idea sprang on her mind. She looked gravely. "You _liked_ me for my long hair."

"Well, that's one—but, but . . ."

"So, you just liked me because of my hair."

He stood up quickly; the chair creeked horribly. "Lookit, Yoshino-san. You're more than just your hair. You see?"

"You liking me is more than your hair fetish, you mean."

"Well—uh, okay, fine, If that's what you think . . ."

"Okay."

"Or do you want other proof?" He then suggested. Okay okay okay okay okay, fine, fine, hypothesis countered, number 3.

"I'm just kidding. You don't have to."

"So that's settled?"

"Yup." She sipped once more to her tea.

Silence once more. Then he blurted out: "I don't know anything about dating."

She replied quickly. "Me either."

"We could consult someone for that." Obviously.

"Yes, I know."

"Then," he started. He gulped but his salivary glands decided to malfunction at this hour of need, so he took his cup swiftly to his lips and managed a sip, then put it down once more. He continued, "What shall we do?"

He was smiling now, just as he smiled when he enjoys his work with his council and Yamayurikai, and when he was with his older sister, but she always knew there was a difference to _this smile_ from the rest that she had seen in the past. She thought, a little biased, that this different, or if not, _new_ smile radiating from him was for her only.

Since she deduced that she's going to be his first girlfriend, then it might be sufficient to call dibs that she made him make that feature first.

She wanted to reason out that she doesn't want to see the rest of the festival yet, because she was tired, but she did want to. But that option seemed to be charting down from the endless list of she wanted to do today. Remaining still was becoming a pleasant idea.

"Why don't we just stay here?"

* * *

><p>He observed that her knowing eyes now were at their sharpest as she looked at him. The pair shone as if they were always new, everytime.<p>

* * *

><p><em>THE END<em>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Okay. First of all, I think Yuuki needed to have a little level-up to do with his badassery to be paired with Yoshino, the BAMF of all members of Yamayurikai (at par with Eriko). He was an established character already (I think that's what I remembered reading from a review about OSMM while back, though I haven't read it), unlike Yumi who needed to grow from her timidness and insecurities before being such a badass character that she was at the end of MSGM.

Two badass characters should have some badass thought-pathways. That's also why I wrote too long sentences, because they never seemed to stop _thinking. _Sorry for that.

So, here lies my work, at your disposal for judgment and ridicule (if you don't like it at all).

Thank you for reading! Please review, so that I'll know your thoughts. Guest reviewers are welcome!


	12. Eriko

**HOW THEY WISH IT WAS RAINING**

_-TheSilentReader-_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER 12: Eriko<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Distractions from Boredom<strong>

Boring.

Youko was slightly agitated once more after she came into the room after she had a talk with her onee-sama. Well, it's much clear it seemed she missed something that she needed to be taken care of, but what can she do if she couldn't see the problem? Of course she's worried about having a petite soeur. Of course she was worried that her onee-sama was worried about her having one. The Red Rose family always has highly strung and fusspot members, and for a while that was interesting, but now it isn't.

The incumbent first years aren't even here yet. We are still first years, so why is she so occupied about that? Maybe Rosa Chinensis en bouton had told Youko something that made her like this. She always wanted to please people—no, not that actually, but she always wanted to please her onee-sama. But what I can say about that? She isn't like Sei who can do anything she wants, who has her onee-sama wrapped around her finger, but I guess Sei didn't know about that last part.

Telling her to relax won't even help, so why bother. She wouldn't even get it off her head if I told her to just stop fidgeting silently at a curved edge of the table. Even though she was as still as a statue, having this solemn pose with her entangled hands before her mouth, I knew she was very much burdened with her plans to execute the operation called Petite Soeur Hunting.

Another boring title. But I made it out of the blue, so there's no sense in thinking of a better name with something as _normal_ as this. The members of the Yamayurikai recruit younger, bright students to join the council. Youko was probably thinking of her own criteria of selecting the best among the best. She is one, so it takes one to know one.

So, probably, with her as the future Rosa Chinensis (she is going to be, I just knew she wanted it that way), she can handle the worst of me and the _worst_ of Sei, bless her.

But when Youko frets, I fret. There is something in the slight turbulence in Youko's gait that makes one fret more. Youko _never_ frets; she makes sound solutions and takes immediate actions. It's like if something bothered Youko, it would be in the level of a national crisis or an upcoming apocalypse—something like that.

But, having _something like that_ wouldn't make me bore to death.

And there is something in me that makes Youko entertain me out of my boredom.

"Petite soeur, I suppose?" I asked, knowing that she'd respond, because _I just know _what was in her mind.

"Yes. Onee-sama talked to me about this so early a time. I was so sure that we are to discuss this matter three weeks from now." She said, glumly, which didn't relieve me at all. Getting entertained by a troubled Youko is like counting a glass of sand particles. This would take forever. But at least she talked more openly than before.

_Noted._

"We are still first years." I deadpanned.

"Who are going to be second years weeks from now." She said, looking at me, as if I needed attention and reminding from her, that . . . ah. That's what she's implying.

"If I were you, you'd worry more about Sei than me. I'm _only_ bored, but she's bored and she doesn't care." I smiled as I protect my weakness to her, using Sei in my defense.

"You gave me another problem." She sighed again, then her eyes began to look through the pristine white tablecloth. I sighed as she buried deep into her world, leaving me bored once more. Nope, you are going to talk more, Youko.

"Look, if finding a petite soeur really bothers you, then I guess, I'll take the effort of finding one myself, once the next school year starts. It's going to be fun, Youko. Our onee-sama would enjoy our little contest." I said, challenging her. I know that my eyes were expressing it clearly.

Because she smirked back at me, her usual confidence radiating brightly once more. "Are you sure you are _into_ it?"

I faked a yawn, "It's the least I can do, you know. So that you'll feel better at yourself."

She narrowed her eyes at me. I seemed to hit a funny nerve, but I didn't care.

* * *

><p>Youko was smiling at me mischievously when as the welcoming ceremony commenced in the large auditorium. It seemed that all the freshmen are here for our disposal, but the rest of those upperclassmen who still have no sister are like us, having sharp eyes like vultures, scanning the rows of freshmen. I saw her looked at Sei and sighed, and as a very much detached sort of friend to both of them, they made <em>me<em> worried.

But there was one thing that caught my attention in my initial scan at the general section of first years: only one stood out the most, and I mean, literally. That patch of dark blond hair was stood out from most of black and browns and even yellows, but what I was looking at wasn't _color_, it was _length. _That person, whoever she was, had the shortest hair among them but also was the tallest in height.

That girl who passed by me and Sei when we were near the statue of Maria-sama.

I never noticed that I was drifting away again from my line in the seats assigned for second years until I heard someone snorted, "Finding something to occupy your wide forehead, _are we_?"

I sneered back at the smirking Sei, and made an expression that put her in her gloomy, bored moods again. I hoped that she read my face: we all have crosses to bear. I sympathize with her in times like this; I knew she's bored and dispassionate, and she had no one else to berate about it, so I guess, I seemed to be the most proper candidate for a responding soundboard. She didn't have anyone, sans her onee-sama, but Rosa Gigantea wasn't as doting and prying a mother as Rosa Chinensis. So, maybe, I am special in Sei in that way, no matter how ridiculous and utter nonsense that idea may be for the both of us. Well, at least, _we _understood boredom.

But damn Sei and her knack for interrupting my train of curousity over that freshman who was as tall as the Tokyo Tower over a sea of apartment complexes. I needed to know her name, and it seems that I needed Youko's help with this. She knew what I like, and I like my weakness so much that I hate it.

I wasn't paying attention to the speeches done by those who stood at the stage, but I knew that Youko was in resonance with my objectives, because her eyes were in full predatory stare at the representative of the freshmen. Ogasawara Sachiko, the vice-principal announced. Youko then looked at the freshman with small trace of pride, as if she was already her Onee-sama. God knows what machinations she'd do to get that girl. Oh, and God knows what she'll say when I have my eyes for that tall freshman whose name I haven't even know yet.

But Youko being Youko, she'll have a list of first year students by the end of the day. With that, I'll hunt that freshman down.

Apparently, my onee-sama beat Youko into it. She gave me a notebook that has list of names of first years. These lists were based on the preferences of the current Roses if they were second years, only names and descriptions such as club activities and physical appearance were there, not pictures. None of the them had the description of "tall" and "has short hair" or even "boyish appearance". The notebook is useless that way. Better give that to Youko.

But I think that Youko doesn't need that notebook anyway. She has her own procedure in getting what she wants.

* * *

><p>It was a flat-out draw.<p>

After the end of the Maria Ceremony, I rushed to the girl that was named Hasekura and found her at the Chrysanthemum class. It wasn't very hard to convince her, we just have to come up with terms that would make her agree to be my petite soeur. She won't be helping much in the mansion because of her club activities and her sickly cousin. But who cares about that, when I can be like Rosa Gigantea (for Sei)? Sei isn't near to a model petite soeur, but Rosa Gigantea is happy enough in the fact that they're seours. So, why not with Rei (she wrote the character of her name in the air, and saw an intermittent yellow string coiled to that finger and connected to my own)?

If she thought that we'll going to have lots of fun when we become soeurs, then say "yes". And she did, she can picture it out.

I took her to the Rose Mansion, and found Youko with another first year (oh, that princess) and concluded that our little race was a _flat-out draw._

But what fun would I experience with the person who caught my eye because she is _different _among the first years.

* * *

><p>"You are really tall."<p>

I said to my new petite soeur when I found her very early in the mansion. I thought that it was the least thing she could do, not when she absent for her club activities in the afternoon. She was now preparing tea for Rosa Gigantea, Rosa Chinensis, and me.

I found myself in front of her, resting my hand on the counter near the tea she had prepared.

"Uhm, thank you, Eriko-sama."

"Onee-sama." I corrected, enjoying her blush and her nervousness.

"Onee-sama." She repeated.

I rested my hand on his head and dragged it to the level of my own. She really is tall. I asked, very focused on my little sister, "How many inches, do you think, is your height from mine?"

It seems that the tea she prepared was forgotten at the circular tray where she placed it, but it's all right. I wasn't thirsty for tea. I watched her became engrossed to my question, because I saw her lifted her long arms and used her fingers to roughly estimate the length from my lifted hand to my head. "Four to five inches, I guess." Rei said.

"Really?"

"Really."

"You are really _tall_." I said again.

"Indeed she is, Eriko-chan." A voice sprang out of the air and left the two of us jumping at that. I faded out the surroundings when I began to talk to Rei. I haven't even realized that the tea that she made was not only for _me_ but for the two Roses. Or seven people, since Onee-sama, Youko and Sachiko-chan are already here. Sachiko was already on her way to prepare the second batch of tea, trying not to disturb us (why didn't she disturb us?). "Captain Obvious."

"I have made myself an idiot, haven't I?" I asked to no one and at the same time to the group.

"Well, you may leave Rei-chan for her to distribute the _much_ awaited tea and put your arms down for your convenience." Rosa Gigantea teased.

Right. I should have. I left her at the counter for her to continue her task and then proceeded to my chair. Thank God, Sei isn't here to witness this. She would drill that embarrassing moment to me, which could last a year. And I would _care_ for that, because it's my weakness she would have drilled on.

But, really, Rei is really tall.

* * *

><p>"Onee-sama,"<p>

I heard Rei's voice calling me out and I realized that I immediately jumped out of my seat and took steps to the counter just to see her face to face. I managed a "Yes, what is it?" for her, and with that she smiled and produced a big yellow pouch.

I am beginning to realize that I became too excited every time she's here.

"You said that you like chocolates. I made a chocolate cake and choco bonbons yesterday and I thought if you want some . . . ?" She said, a little bit timid.

"You bake?" I asked, surprised.

"Yes, Onee-sama."

"You play kendo _and _bake?"

Then I remembered that time in the library when she took out a cookbook but failed to borrow it out of the premises.

"Yes, Onee-sama." I think I'm creeping her out. "You don't want it then, Onee-sama?"

I often check the calendar, I am quite sure that February is so far, far ahead. I looked at her, challenging myself if my decision to choose her was really worth two years to get me out of my boredom. "Tell me, are the choco bonbons bitter?"

Rei's face began to look more serious, "Yes. You seemed to be more of a bitter chocolate type than milk-chocolate type."

I stared at her incredulously. "So there are types of _that_?"

"Yes, Onee-sama."

She seemed to want acknowledgement from me, if ever she made it right or failed. But I realized that my cheeks were already straining because I made my smile—grin stretched too much that I usually allow. "Can I kiss you as a thank-you for your efforts?"

"Where to?" Oooooooh! I wasn't even planning on doing that, but . . . but . . . she was actually considering it!

"On the cheeks of course. But only if I liked your home-made chocolates."

I pulled the string that fastened the pouch on her hand, dug two of my fingers into and out and tossed one into my mouth. The first sensation that my tongue tasted was _bitter. _The richness of pure chocolate spread on my mouth, and I need to slowly chew and melt it at the same time, to relish its exquisite taste.

_Exquisite_ was a word I never used before. But now, this chocolate is worth of that term.

Wait, where does she get the ingredients?

She probably waited several minutes just to get an answer from me. I gulped, "I _love _it. How could you do such an exquisite thing? Can I kiss you now?"

"Uh, in here?" She pointed her index finger at the ground between us, but I ignored her and the surroundings anyway, but this chocolate is sooo good!

"Of course, _here_. Why would I delay my appreciation just because of the location? Picking a location is boring right now, and you making this—" I pointed out the pouch between us "—is what matters."

I did not realize that I lifted my head and kissed her on the cheek. By the time I drew back, Rei was already terribly blushing.

Then I heard a sound of a whistle somewhere who's neither from me nor from Rei.

The surroundings, _again_, were disturbing our solitary moment.

"I think it's because _all _of us are here witnessing a supposedly private moment, in a _public_ room. But please, by _all_ means, do continue. And I really miss you doing the inconceivable, Eriko."

My Onee-sama smiled at me, and I can literally see invisible hands from her hugging me fiercely, like a koala so emotionally attached to a particular branch of a tree. She was always amused of my antics—my unprecedented antics, so I understood her feelings.

But that was embarrassing.

"I don't care." I said, defensive.

Sei rolled her eyes.

* * *

><p>"Rei, what short hair you have. Can I touch it?"<p>

"Sure, Onee-sama."

.

"Rei, what strong arms you have. Can I touch them?"

"Okay, Onee-sama."

.

"Rei, what are you reading? Can I borrow that after you?"

"Sure, Onee-sama."

.

"Rei, tell me about that manga. Is it good?"

"Yes, Onee-sama. This shoujo manga is good."

.

"Rei, which pattern for jumpers do you prefer?"

"That one."

.

"Rei, I think I like this character."

"He's really evil, isn't he, Onee-sama?"

.

"Rei, you should teach me to make those chocolates."

"For whom, Onee-sama?"

"For my future boyfriend."

". . ."

"Are you jealous?"

"No, I'm just confused. Who's your future boyfriend, Onee-sama?"

"We'll meet him in the future, someday."

.

"Rei, could you tell me something about your cousin?"

"Oh, why not, Onee-sama."

* * *

><p>"Maybe you could do something like that, for us, Youko. A performance."<p>

"No thank you, Onee-sama; _we_ prefer to be privy."

"Like, 'oh, Sachiko, you hair is so pretty and long'. And Sachiko-chan would be like, 'Oh, no, Onee-sama, yours is so dark and cropped and much prettier'."

"Rosa Gigantea, I think you should make Sei-chan look for a petite soeur? You are being left out. Granddaughters are such fun!"

"Rosa Chinensis, you are blunt as always."

"But may I ask: do you really have moments like this? Or Youko is as prissy as she could be, Sachiko-chan?"

"_I leave you to your imaginations_, Rosa Chinensis."

"Such showbiz answer! What if I use my authority as your Onee-sama to extract straight answers from you, Youko?"

"Then, we shall pick a location for us to talk privately about this, without _other_ company, with my petite soeur's permission and presence, of course."

"You two are an indestructible team, you Sachiko-chan and Youko you."

"_Killjoy_."

"As if you _weren't_, Sei."

"Shut up."

* * *

><p>I love public display of affection. In fact, I love demonstrating how I want to display my affection. And I want to see people displaying their affections in public. All the more making the world less boring and more interesting.<p>

Thank goodness Rei is now affixed with my likes and dislikes as if they were carved on her shinai. She isn't uncomfortable by it, but I surprise her so many times that I wonder how she would ever anticipate my actions next time? Whenever I see her in the dojo, sparring with an opponent (unknown, doesn't matter) I always read in her form that she could read her opponent's future actions, but why couldn't she read mine whenever I offered a hug or a kiss or a tight squeeze of her hand as my token of appreciation?

I smile every time I surprise her with my sudden actions. I couldn't help it, not in anyway, because she always surprises me. It makes me want to hug or kiss her more, because she never bores me. If I could love my little sister that much, oh, I could. And I can be a very doting sister.

She asked me one time, when we were alone in a park in the premises of Lillian. "What do you really like, Onee-sama?" She watched me lying down on the grass from where she sat.

"Well, I like interesting things."

"Onee-sama, that is vague."

"Okay. I like . . . not normal, weird things."

"Um, like aliens and UFOs?"

Well, if I were to witness a UFO, I would very much put myself to under that thing's spotlight and suck me away, unlike most who would prefer to run to save their lives. I thought for a second, and answered, "That's close enough."

Then, she looked at her hands, thinking deeply. Oh, she must have been serious about this. I began to panic, as if I was seeing Youko distressed like that one time when Rosa Chinensis talked to her about petite soeurs. "Rei, I like things that are intriguing."

"Like what?" She asked, turning from her hands to my eyes, very interested.

I said the first thing on my mind, "You're intriguing."

"I interest you." She deadpanned, as if not believing in herself.

"Yes. Why would I pick a boring little sister? Of course, my petite sister should be _very_ interesting." I reasoned dramatically, complementing her.

"I'm not that interesting," she muttered.

"Oh, don't be hard on yourself. I like you." I declared. I smiled at her just to make her look at me. She must have been thinking of making herself "more interesting" to my eyes, that's why she was asking me of what I like. She shouldn't be trying too hard, I like her just the way she is—just by being tall or even having a short hair. The disparity of her personality: the cooking, baking, stuff toys, shoujo manga and her short hair, kendo shinai and tall physique. Just by being masculine and feminine at the same time.

Even though I tend to be capricious, I am satisfied with Rei. I love her just the way she is.

"You'd do anything for me, right?" I wasn't really meaning it; it was just to tease her. But she looked at me and said seriously and with the conviction of a samurai:

"Anything."

I raised my upper body into a slouching position, and took the effort of kissing her again on her cheek. Again, she blushed, even though I have done this so many times to her.

She smiled, getting my reasons without me talking. Then, she said something that made my future life more promising than ever.

"I think my cousin would make you her eternal rival once you meet."

I'd love the challenge.

* * *

><p>Youko looked at me one cool afternoon while we were at the Rose Mansion, sorting out documents that the Roses needed for the next meetings. We were alone once more, and by the time I gave her the rest of the clipped documents, she asked me if I want tea. I told her, "Tea is boring."<p>

"How about milk coffee. . . with a kick?"

I raised a brow for that sudden suggestion, and while I leave her to her machinations of making a milk coffee with a _kick_, and suddenly wonder how would she do such a travesty when I knew—all the time since I met her—that she wouldn't put something on our drinks that is only legal at the age of twenty-one. Why was she resorting to such experiments?

After five minutes of doing just staring at the coffee she'd done, she flustered, "I can't do this."

"Of course you can't do this. You are _Mizuno Youko._" I rolled my eyes.

She narrowed her eyes at me, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Don't be daft. It isn't you. And it's upsetting."

"I guess you're right."

She looked once more at the cup, then gently buried her pinky finger into the liquid to taste the concoction. She winced as she sucked on her finger.

"Too much."

"I knew it—this is some rare sort of unplanned things that you planned to do."

"Ne, Eriko." She asked as she propped her elbow and rested a cheek on her palms. "How do you make your little sister really react to you? I mean, in a very amusing way, not just in an imposing way?"

She asked this so bluntly that I immediately realized why she was incredibly weird girl in front of me—something really disturbs me entirely when Youko is not being Youko and it's not the pleasant weakness that I liked, because Youko being not Youko is like the end of the world—she was thinking too much about her little sister.

Ogasawara Sachiko must be a pretty hard girl to manage.

Youko read my mind. "Oh, she's very obedient, serious with her roles and work and responsibilities. She never fails to do what I want her to do. But, she doesn't talk much about herself, you know?"

When Youko is anxious, there is an impending apocalypse.

"You mean, she doesn't open up."

"Yes."

"Have you asked her about herself?"

"I tried to be subtle about my questions, because being so direct must be very taxing to the interviewee. But she's does a good _it's up to your imagination_ in every possible variant of the sentence." Youko even copied her little sister's expression it's so hard not to laugh at her. "When I first hear it, I liked it so much, but now—well, what do you think?" She reiterated.

"Ooooooh. Do you want to join forces?" I suggested. "Do something that would make her feel like _I will do something for onee-sama so that she won't do it again._"

Youko raised a brow.

"Like drinking that thing."

"Surely, she won't think highly anymore of me if I did that."

"Don't be too concerned. If she really is a good sister, she'd know why she did that, and not jump into conclusions."

We raised our cups. "On three."

_One—two—three—!_

My head just exploded with butterflies of crazy ideas for my quality time with Rei—that's what I felt after I drank it. Getting drunk in the afternoon—with just me and Youko—was such a good and fascinating idea to think of so many ideas for me and Rei to enjoy ourselves. I thought of shopping with her and buy her _dresses. _I thought of her to do some cosplay for me. Oh, that would come handy in the cultural festival.

"That's . . . that's a great idea, Eriko." Youko beamed. I actually voiced out what I was supposed to be thinking only. "Really, really great." She crooned.

"Let's write everything we thought and discussed!" She said.

"Sure, sure!" In my sub-par state of mind, I giddily agreed. Even though the other part of my head was thinking, _Youko is so damned repressed even when drunk, we should do something wild . . . not _write_ something, but why the heck did I agree to this, but whatever—_

By the time everyone coming to the salon of the mansion, we already finished twenty pages of crazy ideas in impeccable handwriting. We realized we were still good at our penmanship even when slightly tipsy.

What contained in that pages, which we kept to ourselves (and was hidden until Sei was beginning to be okay) were all the things we want for Rei and Sachiko-chan to do for us. Youko was pretty happy as she read and reread it.

But that milk coffee with _something_ never happened again in the confines of the Rose Mansion.

* * *

><p>Sei read it when we were already Roses.<p>

She said, "I think I want Yumi-chan to do all of this. And Sachiko-chan will so prevent her not to do it. Then, Rei-chan will be so concerned to do it because Sachiko-chan will complain to her non-stop about Yumi-chan being forced to do it. Then, all of them will to it."

We are already third years. We were more cunning. So, cunning it is. I even want to include Yoshino-chan to this. I asked, "Why not with Shimako?"

"You don't know her." Sei grinned. "She would do this without any complaint. And that is no fun."

Youko nodded. "I agree."

* * *

><p>One of the things we put there did come true. In fact, many of them did happen.<p>

I just saw Rei in a Canary Festival costume. I _died_ when I saw Yoshino cringing as she tried not to witness Rei's performance. Then, Rei looked at me while dancing and suddenly winked.

* * *

><p><em>THE END<em>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **If you read the 28th volume of MSGM, a section there revealed how Eriko met Rei in the former's point-of-view. I only loosely based this on that section, and I think this Eriko was a little bit OOC. I guess, she wouldn't be as crisp when it comes to her thoughts, but I want to assume she's like that. But that's Konno-sensei for you. Everything's OOC and _not_ at the same time.

Please review! Little in this fandom has Eriko in the spotlight.

But I really wonder how did Sachiko and Youko met. Was it in the light novels? I read how Eriko and Rei met, but never about Sachiko and Youko's. Does anyone wonder about that? Were there fanfics about their meeting? Is there anyone who could enlighten me about this?


	13. Chapter 13

**HOW THEY WISH IT WAS RAINING**

_-TheSilentReader-_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER 13<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Substituting Memories<strong>

It was sudden. They never knew it was coming. They joined hands for a while, trying to hold their emotions privy—staying close to each other while keeping their emotions at bay, while they looked downwards, dropping roses, memories, onto the ground. Soon, she looked at her and recognized the identical pain to desire for recognition, for familiarity.

Their bodies touched. In the same way that they would have pleasured the person that should suppose to receive it. She pulled her long black hair as she would want to do to her; the other bit her erect nipples like how she had wanted it. Sachiko inserted her fingers into Touko and the latter tried to dismiss the pleasure that pulsated from the invasion—Sachiko remembering her abandon, her cries and whimpers when Sachiko touched her there; Touko remembering the pain when she pleasured herself, alone, because Touko couldn't have her.

Yumi had been gone, for a while now.

It would have been more painful to betray her memory. They have thought of that, even tried to talk about it afterwards. Being a substitute for Yumi—for each other, for the both of them—is the only agreement to the affair. Yet, both knew, no one could ever replace her.

* * *

><p>END<p>

* * *

><p>AN: Months went by and this is what I did.

It's been a long while. I know I haven't been updating BCD and TPW, but this is all I could manage for now. I'm really sorry. I've been very busy lately, and while reviewing for an exam, I came about this piece. I'll try to get back on those multi-chapter fics sooner. Please review and tell me what you think about this.

TSR


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** Just a sprinkle of random drabbles bundled into one chapter for Kobayashi and Yoshino. Somehow the anime was aiming for some guy from Hanadera to pair up with Yoshino (at least in season 3) but you know how we love Rei/Yoshino more. But then again, this is just another setting for a probable future. How things went from "Yamayurikai" to college crap and all that, I don't know. It's just that I like to imagine them to be good friends.

So here goes.

* * *

><p><strong>HOW THEY WISH IT WAS RAINING<strong>

_-TheSilentReader-_

* * *

><p>CHAPTER 14<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Just Good Friends<strong>

There is nothing wrong with puffing a cigarette after she come across him. Tonight was the end of the long, sleepless week, and she knew that once she throws away the butt of a well-consumed cigarette, she would soon fall into a long sleep. She just had an exam critical enough to change a semester of crudely-made schedule, and she thought she might rethink of those plans because her score would probably as worthy as the energy-drink bottle she took this morning to stay awake. Enough to wish to God that she would pass, and enough, too (ironically), to make her repeat that course again.

Then she remembered. Just, ugh, for the love of—

"_Last class for the semester?" He whispered, as he sat down next to her. The professor was his adviser, and he was close to him to barge in any of his classes without making the grumpy Professor Ikuhara go apeshit for anyone to open the lecture hall door while he passionately discusses about the worsening economy. _

_She just nodded to respond to his question, and at the same time to agree with Ikuhara's long soliloquy, just to make anyone who sees her understand that she was actually listening to the lecture. _

_Enough that the professor to notice her and Kobayashi. "Any thoughts, Shimazu-san?"_

_Crap. _

_In the middle of searching for something relevant to say to the terrorist-professor, Kobayashi murmured, "Agreeing with you is too fast to judge when there is still two years of observation until we can say that he's crap doing his job."_

_She said loud enough for her professor to hear her from the back—". . . crap doing—" And all that while she was repeating his words to the professor. And she just said an inappropriate word, ". . . well, doing his job."_

"_Yes. That was the point."_

_She heard a classmate—her over-eager classmate—gasped and looked Yoshino with a shocked face. Then, it all came to her; she just made her professor nod at her answer. No one had ever made Ikuhara agree to anyone's opinion ever since the semester started. And all that from Kobayashi. She just made an impression to a grumbling professor with the help of the latter's advisee. _

_That too made a different note about Kobayashi, the only pupil that had reached a year under Ikuhara without requesting for a change of adviser. Kobayashi must've found Ikuhara's dirtiest, darkest secret. _

_The professor turned away from them and proceeded to his lecture. _

"_I don't owe you anything." Yoshino mumbled, threatening._

"_I just got you to his good side. What more can you ask?" Kobayashi stared at the black board, as if not they were really listening to the lecture. _

"_This is the end of the semester." _

"_A good way to impress him to pass you then."_

When she thought that she'd finally gain something from this friendship, he just barged in her door, looking and smelling bad as ever.

"What the hell, Kobayashi—"

"Yoshino-saaaaan, I need your bathroom—" He complained as rushed to the toilet and belched out the junk of all that he drank. It was Friday, and finals are over. It was time for everyone to get sloshed and get laid.

She heard the flush of toilet then shouted, "Why are you not in your dorm room?"

She went inside just as she reflexively caught the T-shirt that Kobayashi threw away. Then she heard water flowing in the tub. Great.

"You have the best apartment, ever. You have a private bathroom, while everyone's going to the public baths."

"You didn't answer the question."

Yoshino let him finish the shower. A few minutes later, she saw him went out in her robe. She rolled her eyes as she wondered silently why she'd allow this kind of freedom for someone like Kobayashi. They act more than the defined customs for something like friendship. She rubbed her forehead and asked again.

"Why are you here, Kobayashi?"

Then she heard a laugh, "Someone's getting it. Finally. And I am a good friend."

"Ah."

Yuuki-san, that bastard. But not really, when he wasn't getting laid because of some reason.

"Is it Touko-chan?"

"Maybe. I dunno. I'll probably know tomorrow. They were fucking loud, actually. Too good to be true, but they sound like some good porn. I ran away just not to get an erection."

At this point, Yoshino just want to throw him out of the room. She wasn't getting any too, that's what came in her mind, and for Kobayashi to indirectly point that out was a good swing on how ironically depressing tonight was. It's the end of the grueling semester, but she's not getting any happier.

"You are disgusting. Can't you be more insensitive?"

Kobayashi looked at her like she'd said something stupid. "Yoshino-san, I get it. But don't get your 'I'm a woman and you're impolite' all over me. You're not like that."

He's got a point. "Dammit." Yep, but it's not an excuse to be so informal around her. But then, the room became quiet when they realized that Yuuki-san, finally, that bastard Yuuki-san, is finally getting some steam out. It was so amazing, Yoshino wanted to cry.

"Yeah. Blueball's getting it all out."

"Good for him."

* * *

><p>The alcohol did get out of Kobayashi's system, and after hours of napping in Yoshino's bed, he woke up in her robe and found her sitting on her small balcony and taking small shots of . . . he can't tell. On the balcony, a cigarette was left to burn on the ashtray. He looked at his watch and found out that four hours has passed after midnight.<p>

"Can I have that?" He pointed out to the cigarette that Yoshino was wasting.

"Sure."

"He's just getting it. That bastard Yuuki-san." She said after Kobayashi sat on the other side of the balcony.

"Yeah. You want it to be you?"

He asked as if she wasn't a girl. He reached for her glass and drank the remaining contents, leaving Yoshino in another suppressed fit. Rude to share glasses, but he didn't care. He seemed not waiting for a reply. But it was such a long day, and it sucked too, and it's after midnight, so she breached the subject as if it won't be brought up in the future.

"Yeah."

The comment was immediate: "You still can't get over him? I thought you got over him."

She stared at him with contempt. "Obviously I didn't."

He tore away from her glare and looked at the dark sky. "Lookit, Yoshino-san. You can't help that he just don't like you . . . like that. Just deal with it and move on."

She found no words to say after that.

He continued, but a litter quieter and shy, "He liked her too much for too long. He's lucky she gave him a chance. They deserve each other. But then, you're not happy it wasn't you. That's selfish, but I can't judge you by that."

When she didn't interrupt him like she usually do, he continued, "Yuuki-san isn't the only guy in the world you know."

When he looked at her, she was on the verge of sobbing. He came down from the balcony and embraced her as she was about to have her first mewl. He rubbed her back as she tried to cry as quietly as she allowed herself to.

When she calmed down, he went back to the room and looked for his bag pack, and when he came back, he was already burning a stick of green. "Somebody was handing this at the party like candies. You want?"

* * *

><p><em>Apparently everyone thought they are dating. They're not.<em>

_Yumi asked her several times, and Yoshino trained herself not to be bogged down by Yumi's endless prodding. That says enough of her growing string of her patience. Rei-chan once commented that it was a good character development for Yoshino; she was already considered a saint for gaining patience for Yumi, of all people. _

_Kobayashi said that it's not the end of that._

_They never thought about it. They were asked, together and individually, several times, it's just that they just couldn't imagine it. Yeah, Yumi once saw Kobayashi sleeping in her bed once or twice after she dropped by unannounced, and Yuuki twice saw Yoshino dragged him out of the dorm room not ashamed that Kobayashi was in boxers, but still, there was no room for love in it. Not even sex._

_Surprisingly, Rei-chan tried not to get too hysterical after hearing about it from Sachiko-sama, who heard about it from Yumi-san, who forced Yuuki-san to spill everything about his best friend. Yoshino was already expecting a visit from that woman Eriko-sama, just to have a good hour of acerbic conversation. It was expected that Eriko-sama would always be attentive of every event of Yoshino's life. _

"_We're just friends."_

"_Understatement of the year." Noriko, who happened to be in the girls' night out, dropped it like some discarded shirt. _

"_Look, not everyone you see in my bed I had sex with."_

_Sachiko-san grimaced at the word and admonished not Yoshino but "Rei, Yoshino—"_

"_Oh, Sachiko, please not now."_

_Yumi, uninterrupted by her seniors, kept on sticking her nose to the business, "But Yoshino-san, did you, um . . . have that with every guy I've seen in your bed, right?"_

_Yoshino gave no resistance in stating what she told everyone over and over anyway, "Yeah, some boyfriends ago, but not Kobayashi, for God's sake."_

"_So Kobayashi-san is the exception?"_

"_Yeah. He's the 'zero' that my numerator won't consider as a denominator." She deadpanned, not minding that her notion of a joke is actually nauseating for everyone. _

_Except Shimako, who chuckled, clearly got the whole joke. If Sei-sama was around, she would be stabbing herself thinking of the reason why Shimako was even her sister when they don't even share the same humor. Well, who knows. _

"_You mean you just won't—"_

"_Oh my God, no. Just no." Yoshino gagged. _

_Noriko pointed, "Did you ever ask Kobayashi-san if he saw you as a woman?"_

"_Haven't talked about it."_

"_Why not?"_

"_We just didn't."_

* * *

><p>"<em>Why didn't we talk about it?"<em>

"_Does it matter?"_

_She was slicing the onions when she stopped and pointed her knife at Kobayashi, who was sitting in front of her table, drinking her orange juice. "Look, Kobayashi," she waved her knife like a wand, "It's not like I am interested, it's just that I want to know if at some point in this friend—if we call this 'friendship'—that you got interested in dating me?"_

_His eyes bulged, then looked at her suspiciously. "This doesn't sound like you're not interested."_

_She put the knife down and a sharp crunch was heard from the tore onions. "Just answer the stupid question."_

_Kobayashi rolled her eyes. "You mean, fucking you?"_

_Yoshino grabbed a lettuce and cut it into half in a predicted slice. "Yes—no, yes. That' it. Like if you're attracted to me enough to think about having sex with me."_

_He swallowed his belch. "I don't know. No."_

"_Why? Am I not that womanly enough?" Slice._

_He put the glass of orange juice down. "Look, you are attractive. If this is about your self-esteem again—"_

"_Then if I'm attractive, then why didn't you even—" Slice._

"_By gods, Yoshino, have you ever considered the men you dated before? You got laid with them, at some point right?"_

_Mid-crunch—"Yeah."_

_She finished that slice slower than she first intended. _

_Kobayashi got up and opened the refrigerator to get the jug of orange juice for another refill. "And through the course of one of those relationships, they wanted to do it with you, several times, right?"_

"_Yeah." Slower slice._

_Kobayashi tore the lid open and pour down his second helping. "So, there's no way you're not attractive. They considered fucking you, for one thing."_

"_Good point." She threw some of the unwanted leaves in the trash bin. _

_He gulped another fill all the way down. "You are stupid when it comes to yourself that I want to throw up. This conversation with you is the worst ever."_

_Then it was back to her cooking lunch. Then she said:_

"_It's not like I wanted to sleep with you, I just want to know if you did. Have you ever asked that, if I ever wanted to sleep with you?"_

_Kobayashi once more, rolled his eyes. "Oh, gods."_

"_Really, 'coz this conversation isn't over until you answer my question." She just finished pouring mixing steamed rice into the pan. _

"_Fine, fine." He conceded, as he sat down again to watch her mix the rice with the vegetables and ground meat. "I asked myself that once."_

"_Then what happened?"_

"_Then I just thought our relationship is so much better if sex is not involved, so I left it alone. Never to be asked again."_

"_Well, that is sensible." She said. _

_She mixed and mixed and mixed. Then she saw Kobayashi handing her a big bowl from his seat. _

_He agreed, "It is. So, let's just be bro's and get this out of our system, okay?" He moved the bowl with his hand to make his suggestion get into her head, emphasizing it. _

_Then she poured the contents of the pan into the bowl he's holding. "Okay. Awkwardly enough, glad we went out of this."_

_He set the bowl on the middle of the table and moved to get two smaller bowls and two large spoons. He raised his fist above their food. _

_She raised hers too. _

_Then they bumped them to each other. "Glad we saw this through."_

* * *

><p>"<em>She's not my girlfriend."<em>

"_So you haven't fucked her. That's good."_

_He narrowed his eyes to a fellow university student who lived in the same dormitory as Kobayashi. But the guy, who he observed to be in some sort of a varsity club, dismissed Kobayashi's discomfort over the topic. "Good? Meaning?"_

"_Nothing. Nothing, dude."_

_One can expect that this topic is so typical inside the common bath house—Kobayashi was about to finish scrubbing himself when this jock nudge his shoulder for his attention. Without his glasses, he couldn't see the details of his face. _

_Oh, another of Yoshino's admirers. To get to the girl, be friendly to the guy nearest to her._

_He was fairly intimidated; to his disadvantage, he wasn't wearing his glasses. Even so, he knew that he would humor this one. He's friendly and for the months that Kobayashi knew him, he wasn't that bad. But that didn't give him the avenue of saying that his relationship with Yoshino is not his fucking business. _

_One good thing though, at least he asked. He wasn't that bad to Kobayashi. Not yet. _

"_She's like a twin, you know. A sister." A subtle warning that Kobayashi cared for Yoshino greatly. But then, what can Kobayashi expect when the guy literally was into himself and not minding a single fuck and just kept on talking._

"_Coz I think she's really hot." He said. "You won't be beat the shit out of me if I ask her out?"_

_Then the bastard laugh and nudged him again, only this time it was more forceful, pointing something so obvious. Kobayashi sniggered his way just keep himself from rolling his eyes. Yeah, keep thinking that I can't beat the shit out of you. You might be stronger and could maul a bear but I can poison your beer you fucker. _

_Snickering still, Kobayashi just said, "Only if she asked me to."_

_The jock was not even listening. "Okay. Wait, does she have a boyfriend? Naah, I don't think she does. Am I right, four-eyes? Am I right?"_

"_I don't think that's—"_

"_I'm gonna ask her out. You gotta love a girl who drags men in boxers' outta their dorm rooms. So, dude, when you see her sometime, get her to know about me, 'kay? You know, say nice things."_

_Kobayashi doesn't even know anything about him to justify the "nice things" he was referring to._

* * *

><p>"<em>So someone in my dorm noticed you and told me you're hot."<em>

_It's was the fifth time that he was asked as a buffer for the guys in his dorm checking out Yoshino. It was a typical discussion between them, like devil-incarnate professors for Yoshino, and video games for Kobayashi._

"_Where did he get that?"_

"_When he saw you dragging me half-naked out of my dorm room months ago."_

_Yoshino whistled. "That's a turn-on for him? There's a masochist in a nutshell."_

_He neglected her comment. "So, he's asking me if it's okay to ask you out."_

"_Why you and why not me?"_

"_He thought we are fuck-buddies. The guy is full of contradictions. One time he's nice, then he starts to be a jackass."_

_She let him finish. Sometimes she just have to be quiet and not interrupt him; he could talk for hours without realizing he's revealing more than he should. "Not a nice impression. I want to see his profile."_

_He went to her desk and opened her laptop to pop the browser and log in his "He's not in my list of friends. But for your eyes," He searched the jock's name in the social network's search tab. "Here. So, you interested?"_

"_Looks good enough." Then, after a beat, she jested, "Does he have a large dick?"_

_He grimaced not at her audacity, but the mental image itself. "Why are you asking me that?"_

"_Hmn. Maybe he'll just like me for my body."_

"_That I can tell, but check him out first. Gauge him, at least."_

"_Oh, I will."_

_Then, she went to the bathroom. As she closed the door, she heard him reminding her, "Let me know if he did something stupid."_

"_And what, you'll gonna poison his beer?" She opened the shower. _

"_That's what I thought when he was telling me to endorse him to you."_

_She snickered._

* * *

><p>"<em>How was it?"<em>

"_It didn't work out."_

_Girl talk. She likes it when someone else is in the hotseat—like Yumi, she's reveals and describes too much—but not when it's Yoshino's turn. _

"_Oh. Why?" It was also not helping that Yumi was the one asking the questions; she has a way of extracting information._

"_He's boring."_

"_Why?" Again, the why question. _

"_There's so many things . . . why am I answering you anyway?"_

"_Because . . . I am your best friend? Come on, work with me." Again, with Yumi's puppy-eyes. _

_Yoshino raised an eyebrow. "It's just simple: he's boring and we have nothing in common."_

"_In just one date, you all figure that out?" Yumi needed to get out more, Yoshino thought._

"_Yeah, in just one date, Yumi-san."_

"_Well I thought—"_

"_Well you thought what?"_

_Yumi's eyes bulged out then began moving away from her, as if she was hiding something. No, she was hiding something from her. An idea, an opinion—Yoshino knew, because Yumi was so predictable in cases like this. _

"_Oh, nothing." Yumi mumbled._

"_Stop it and just be honest with me."_

"_You know what I was gonna say."_

"_No, I don't."_

_Yumi took a deep breath, garnering her strength. She looked straight at Yoshino's eyes while she balanced herself with her feet. She squared her shoulders—she was again acting like she's preparing for war. It was so identical with Sachiko-sama's stance that Yoshino began to get concerned of this opinion Yumi was concealing. Some habits don't die, when it was the Ice Princess who trained her._

"_You told me several times that you know what I'll say just looking at me. So I stopped talking, just because I thought you know what I'll say, and that you don't want to hear it from me."_

"_No, really, Yumi; I don't know. Tell me."_

"_No."_

"_Tell me."_

"_Fine! Because I thought that guy was not as interesting, unlike Kobayashi-san."_

* * *

><p><em>Well, come to think of it, it's true.<em>

* * *

><p>"<em>How was it?"<em>

_He was once again in her apartment. "I want you to be the last person to ask that fucking question."_

_She saw him holding a glass of orange juice. Ugh, what a freeloader._

_She told herself so many times that resupplying the grocers at a regular weekly basis would just make Kobayashi a freeloader. She was even more surprised that even in the last week of classes, she supplied enough to last more than a week. Maybe she needed to tell him to stuff her fridge. _

_When she opened her fridge, she found two boxes of juice that she didn't buy. Kobayashi knew she'd grill his balls if he dared consume her supplies again. Her bad mood simmered a little._

"_So it didn't work out."_

_Yoshino poured herself a glass too. "How did you know? You talked to him?"_

_He drank, then said, "No, I didn't. And if it went well, you are probably gushing about it to me right now and must've told every single one of your girl friends about it. And you can't wait to tell others about it. Duh."_

"_I'm not that talkative." She assured._

"_But you complain a lot." He asked after he finished his glass. "So it didn't work out. Why? Small dick?"_

_She laughed. "No. It's just . . . he's boring." _

"_Really?"_

"_Yeah."_

_A moment passed and he asked slowly. "Did he do anything stupid to you?"_

_She assured him by rolling her eyes. "No, nothing like that. He knows his place, or else my shinai's probably already landed hard his nuts. He's just . . . predictable."_

_He sighed loudly and indelicately. _

"_It's gonna be hard, taking a bath at the bathhouse for weeks. But not hard enough. " Kobayashi grumbled. _

"_At least you won't have the criminal burden to poison his beer."_

* * *

><p><em>Several days after the failed date, Yoshino asked, "So why are you not dating, Kobayashi?"<em>

"_Me? Well, no one's interesting."_

_She noticed that Kobayashi did not care. "That's it? But it's not like you're such a Casanova to act as if you've seen all of the spectrum of women around."_

_He looked at her with a stare that oftentimes rendered him to think that Yoshino really is not that quick at times. "No, not all guys are like that. It's just I'm not good at courting women, you know. And you know I give people the impression of a boring math geek."_

"_You are a math geek."_

"_That's the point. Nobody likes a math geek."_

_She laughed, and he laughed with her, but trying to suppress it. She said, "Well, I like you like that. A geek."_

"_But not to date a math geek."_

_Then, how come this didn't come to her before: "How about the other geeky girls in the Math department? Not even one?"_

_Hence, his answer: "They are still in their latency phase, solving their way to the top of the Math exams. No, penises don't interest them."_

_Then, her counter-argument: "What if you're wrong? This is not like high school when there's a solid line between an achiever and a slut."_

"_You have a point, but that is not the reason."_

"_Well, have you considered that someone can actually like you?"_

"_No, I don't."_

"_Here comes the low self-esteem convos we're having."_

"_Well, do you pity me enough to date me?"_

"_Well, do you pity me enough to date me?" She copied. _

"_Gods, we are not going to breach into that subject. We talked about this."_

"_Nightmare."_

* * *

><p>She took the weed, and had the first puff.<p>

He asked a very out-of-character question. "So why are we not dating again?"

"You're a boring math geek."

"And you complain a lot."

"Okay, let's just stick with that."

"Okay."

Soon, the weed had been smoked; they had nothing else to do.

Then, they kissed.

* * *

><p>"Nope. This is not working, isn't it?"<p>

It was innocent enough. Too innocent that the laughed at the audacity for them to silently consider something beyond the comforting friendship that they have. But it seems like Yoshino was interested to find other reasons to disprove Kobayashi's nonchalance about them being—theoretically—together.

Maybe: "On second thought, are you gay?"

"No. It's just that this isn't working."

"As weird as this goes, yeah. Why is this not working?"

"Maybe some other time."

"Maybe it's the weed. I think I'm high."

They sat on the balcony, just quietly enduring until their balance return to them after that little smoke episode. Then, she remembered that she was actually drinking something before Kobayashi started grilling him about Yuuki.

Maybe they just have to talk properly about it. The conversation always boils down to that anyway, and she thought that this time, and two hours before dawn breaks is the best time for it.

Over a bottle of vodka, two shot glasses, and the light evening breeze, he surmised, "Maybe it's too predictable?"

* * *

><p>They drank until the sun's rays become unbearable that they retired to Yoshino's bed after closing windows to block all the sunlight. It's the end of the finals week anyway, they have all the reason to sleep for two days and no one would complain.<p>

But what was left was an empty liquor bottle, and the two of them on the bed, just hugged each other to sleep.

It was just a platonic friendship that everyone fail to recognize. Only they understood.

* * *

><p>END<p> 


End file.
